


After the Vault: A Commonwealth Story (Part II)

by Whitelightstep



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternative Quest Endings (non-cannon), BoS, Brotherhood of Steel - Freeform, Deathclaw, Diamond City, Drama, Emotional, F/M, Ghouls, Good Neighbor, Injury, Laser Rifle, Power Armor, Prydewn, Prydwen, Radstorm, Romance, Sexual Content, Stimpak, Sunshine Co-op, Swearing, Synths (Humans), The Institute - Freeform, The Minutemen - Freeform, Troubling, Vertibird, Wasteland, feral ghouls, institute, mild violence, radiation, relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-05-14 08:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 121,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5736820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whitelightstep/pseuds/Whitelightstep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(This is Part II)</p><p>Female Sole Survivor, Gladen Reed (previously Gladen Smith), exits the Vault to find the world around her utterly changed from what she once knew. Feeling lost and unsure of where to go now, Codsworth shows up and is able to get her back on her feet. Along the way she learns a lot about herself, about others and slowly carves out her identity in this new world. As time goes on, what seemed complicated to understand is only the beginning. It goes so much deeper than she ever imagined</p><p>What started out as a short story has evolved into a lengthy novel as time went on. Initially triggered by the Blind Betrayal Quest in Fallout 4, I've gone back and documented my character from the beginning. Chapters are getting longer as time goes on with the focus eventually falling mostly to Paladin Danse and Female Sole Survivor, Gladen Reed. Later chapters may contain sexual content. Initial chapters are mostly just character development. Tried to stay mostly cannon. There may be a few non-cannon events that increase in number as the story continues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Part I can be found here [Here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5562763/chapters/12829531))

“I can help you get in there, but I want something in return,” Virgil said as he addressed the two visitors before him.

Paladin Danse had taken over much of their conversation since arriving at the scientist’s neatly tucked away cave within the vast sea of radiation, heat and all manner of unpleasant creatures. It had been no easy task finding him. This cave was not on any of the Brotherhood’s marked sites of possible interest or safe points within the landscape. Instead, it had been through some luck in speaking to the Children of Atom that pointed them in the correct direction. A strange group of religious fanatics that worshipped the radiation as a sign of their beloved and all-seeing god. Their leader had identified the location of Virgil in a nearby cave only two clicks South of their settlement. It had been a large stroke of luck. Their previous hours had proved less than enjoyable. Radscorpions, feral ghouls, insects the size of men. Not to mention the brief encounter with a wild Deathclaw that had resulted in the smaller one, Rook, disappearing.

Danse didn’t seem to outwardly mind, but Reed could tell that it did not sit well with him as they pressed on.

Still, Virgil had proven to be an interesting character. The scientist had certainly survived the journey to this point and had even managed to gather a variety of gear and tech for his makeshift laboratory as it sat hidden from the world. Humming turrets had greeted them at the entrance, but didn’t shoot. A Protectron marched dutifully as it patrolled the area. Their scientist proved to be a Super Mutant, the result of some incident at the Institute.

Reed had spoken to him during their initial interaction. She explained about Kellogg, her interest in the Institute, how she knew about where to find Virgil all the way out here and what they were willing to do to obtain their goal. A sudden wave of nausea had sent the Knight to a sitting position on the floor, however, the taste of bile creeping up the back of her throat as she swallowed

“Ah, yes, the radiation does take its toll on those less suited for it,” Virgil had said understandingly. It was obvious that he was simply a human in the form of a Super Mutant. He wasn’t nearly as brutal, harsh nor outwardly hostile, as other greenskins they had met in the past.

The Vault dweller had taken a moment to drink some water, down another dose of the radiation flushing tablets and waited for the twitching of her stomach to subside. Part of her wanted to get out of the heat of her Power Armor, a little part of her mind whining pitifully in protest as her BOS jumpsuit and hood were moist with sweat. Her companion had continued in speaking with Virgil. She was thankful when Danse took over their conversation.

“What do you want from us?” Paladin Danse asked, arms folded across his chest as he chatted with the rogue. The distrust was somewhat apparent in his eyes, but no more than meeting any stranger on the Commonwealth.

“Before I had to escape, I was working on a serum that would serve as a cure for my… condition,” the Super Mutant explained, adjusting his glasses a moment as they sat awkwardly on his face, clearly designed for human features. “I wasn’t able to bring it with me. It’s still in my lab, and… Well, look at me. I need it. If you manage to get inside the Institute, I need you to find it for me.”

Slowly he rolled the idea through his mind as he considered the possible exchange. It wasn’t every day that they were faced with a scenario such as this. A scientist from the very Institute itself. Not only that, but someone who had lived that life and knew the intimate details about what was held within. Its layout. Its purpose. And to top it off, said scientist was apparently willing to work with them in order to obtain a serum that could hold the key to returning him to a normal human being.

Even such a serum, if viable, would be an incredible asset to assisting the Commonwealth with its woes.

He carefully regarded Virgil as if measuring him.

“You help us, and we’ll help you,” he said with a firm nod.

Virgil had seemed relieved.

“All right. Let’s talk details.”

* * *

Reed stared at her helmet as they made ready to leave Virgil’s cave and return to their designated vertibird pick-up location. It would require another long trek back across the Glowing Sea. Even though this time they had mapped out what appeared to be the path of least resistance, there was still the difficulty of the environment to contest with during the journey. Danse seemed to be less affected by it than she was. Then again, he had done this venture before and had an understanding of what to expect.

The Knight made a face before putting her helmet on with the familiar hiss of engaging couplers. A familiar warmth began to already build-up inside it. Filters and air purifiers worked within its confines to help alleviate the problem. It didn’t help that the person wearing it was already feeling uncomfortably warm, however.

“You alright?” Danse checked in as he geared up beside her. His features were still drawn in a focused manner about the mission, but his brown gaze softened slightly as he looked at her. _He knew this mission had its challenges._

“I think so,” Reed said with the slightest of nods as she picked up her .45 automatic rifle. “Just still feeling a little nauseous is all.”

The Paladin regarded her for a moment before nodding slightly, almost seemingly to himself. They’d keep an eye on that. As much as the Vault dweller had adapted to the world around them, there were still some matters that would always prove more challenging than others. One of those being the previous lack of exposure to radiation due to all those years below ground, protected from it. A surface dweller, while not immune, may not feel the effects so readily as someone who had never be subjected to it before.

“We’ll keep an eye on that,” he said, tone serious. “If anything changes, let me know immediately. We’re going to press to get out of the Sea as quickly as we can. Once we get back, we’ll get you and I checked for radiation sickness.”

_Great._

Still, she wasn’t about to argue. The sooner they got out of this hellish environment they found themselves in, the better.

Servos whirled and gears turned as the Power Suits were once more put to the test against the harsh elements of the world before them. Green specks of light drifted through the yellow clouds like toxic fireflies, sent up in plumes with each heavy footstep. The ground beneath their feet seemed to almost crunch beneath their footsteps, its surface roasted and cooked from the bombs dropped during the Great War. Already the internal temperature of the suits began to rise ever so slightly. It would take them a number of hours to return back to the safe zone.

 _So, it appeared they would need to take down a Courser._ A synth specifically designed to be the ultimate killing machine on behalf of the Institute.

Reed briefly thought of her encounter with Kellogg and how difficult that had been. A shadow crossed her features. Things were different now. The Vault dweller was more prepared for this encounter. Time in the Commonwealth had highlighted her skills in the area of combat, skills she didn’t even know she had.

If their only option was to take down a Courser, then that’s what they would do.

It would bring them one step closer to the Institute.

And her answers.


	2. Back Aboard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notice: This chapter contains Explicit Adult Content. You've been advised)

Reed clicked casually through the various settings located on her Pip-Boy, both reading and not-reading what was displayed before her in green symbols against black. Thoughts were on a variety of other things as she sat aboard the familiar steel framed airship that her senior officer called home. A slightly thickened liquid dripped rhythmically into the tubing that was hooked up to the vein in her arm. It was the color of whiskey and appeared to be mixed with syrup. It felt cold as it fed directly into her system and spread throughout. A shiver crept up her spine. _What she wouldn’t give for a hot bath right about now._

Radiation sickness was no joke. Fortunately, treatment of it had vastly developed over the years with it being such a common matter and it had become rather quick to remedy. The bag of Radaway would soon have her back to feeling more like her usual self within the hour.

Green eyes stared at the readings on the Pip-Boy.

Virgil had explained about the likeliest location for a Courser. Around C.I.T. in the downtown core would be the most logical place to start. It would be the beginning of their search, as there was no specific way to track a Courser. The frequency used by the Institute for teleporter travel was an encrypted classical music station broadcast publically on all channels, one that she’d even listened to briefly in the past. With the proper equipment and relay system, they might just be able to highjack the signal and gain entrance themselves. First, they would need a Courser’s chip, however. To do that, they would need to kill an actual Courser. The Institute’s best weapon. A killing machine. That was their next task. Using the radio frequency and disruptions to that channel to determine an approximate location via pings.

_Nothing worth it was ever easy._

Feeling eyes upon her, the Knight looked up from her musings. A smile caught her features.

Danse was sitting not too far away from her in the same infirmary. Golden liquid was also treating him as well, although he needed a lesser dosage. The radiation sickness didn’t appear to affect him nearly as much outwardly as it did her. Still, they were treating him just the same. He was watching her casually as he sat propped up on a metal stool. There was no need for either of them to occupy a bed. Treatment would take only a short time.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, voice familiar and deep.

Aboard the Prydwen, he was typically the stereotypical figure of authority and steely expression. In this moment, he appeared more casual, more at ease. The Paladin was becoming more adept at switching back to being just Danse as time went on. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him as he watched her.

_A lot of things were on her mind._

To be honest, there were times when she genuinely felt overwhelmed in this world. Moments where she began to second-guess her abilities, her purpose, whether or not she really belonged here. Things weren’t the way they were before. Seeing the Glowing Sea had been more unsettling than she’d let on. A stark reality of this world. The pure picture of what had happened to the people in her time. _At least the ones in the hot zone hadn’t felt it when it hit._ Still, that outlook didn’t change the fact that it had shaken her slightly upon seeing it. Once they'd started to travel within it, she'd felt somewhat overwhelmed.

Add to that the complexity of learning an entirely new world. On having to draw on past weapons and military experience to survive, a life that she had thought she’d have been able to move away from. Still, there’d been some lucky breaks. Meeting the Minutemen and their understanding ways. Finding the Brotherhood of Steel. Learning this world through assisting the settlers and people they’d found. Having to give up everything she had been previously to become an entirely other person. It was like learning to live all over again.

Luckily, she’d found goodness here. People like Nick. People like Haylen. Surges and Preston. They were some of the few who had given her reason not to give up entirely.

And then there was Danse. Paladin Danse. Legendary battle-hardened veteran of the Brotherhood of Steel. Mentor to Elder Maxson himself. Authoritative. Direct. Honest. He’d seen the world at its worst and it only drove him to do better for it each day. A person to be admired, respected. If anyone was to inspire others, it would be his leadership and ways of existing in the world.

That very person gave her a sense of comfort in this world. A sense of strength. Companionship. Beneath the hardened exterior was a caring individual, one who would give his life to protect those around him. What he couldn’t say with words he spoke with his heart through his actions. He did that for anyone who mattered in his life. The brothers and sisters in his command. Those that worked for the betterment of the Commonwealth. Yet his actions had spoken the loudest when it came to the recruit who’d found them in Cambridge. An anomaly at his doorstep.

He was the person who had taken her in, given her a chance, welcomed her into their ranks as a means for a better chance in this world.

Now, as they sat here, he was the one who brought a smile to her features with just a look. Whose embrace could take away the world, if even just for a short time. He had shared more of who he was with her, about his past, about his life amongst the Brotherhood. He’d even shared with her his name, a fact that nobody but Elder Maxson, and perhaps Knight Cade, were privileged to knowing.

Relationships were strange out here now. Life didn’t pass as it did before. Time was precious. The two of them were together, companions above and beyond just titles within the Brotherhood. They shared an intimate bond that continued to grow and evolve with every hard mission or task they faced. A few months on the road somehow felt like years. Each day faced with a new struggle. Each day faced with the possibility of death. One very quickly got to know those around them. What a person was willing to live for, and what a person was willing to die for.

After what Danse had done to protect her in the past, it seemed foolish to expect courtship by flowers and chocolates. Instead it seemed more befitting to share ones ammunition and assist with the upgrading and maintenance of weapons. That made more sense in this world today.

Reed met the brown eyes of her lover companion, unable to shake the slightest smile on her features. _He was still as handsome as ever._ Fleetingly, the thought crossed her mind as she wondered how difficult it might be to sneak into his quarters later that evening without getting being seen.

With a click, the Knight turned off her Pip-Boy and settled back into her chair. The feeling of a strange cold had settled into her bones. Out in the Glowing Sea, it had been stiflingly hot. Now was the opposite. _This world never could seem to make up its damn mind._

“What I wouldn’t give for a warm bath right about now,” she said wishfully. Baths, of course, were heavily impractical. Purified water was highly sought after, fought over. People died over it. Still, it would nice to be comfortably warm for a change. The Commonwealth always seemed so cold, or scorching. “Did you make your report to Elder Maxson?”

Her senior officer dropped his gaze to his hands clasped before him, “I did. I don’t think he is entirely impressed with the concept of chasing all these leads. Still, I don’t think that should be taken personally or as a means to affect our reputation of success in these matters. He is pleased with the information, just not pleased with the entire scenario.”

 _That made sense._ The Institute was a ghost in the Commonwealth. Nobody could ever be entirely fond of grasping at rumors and possible leads. In a military outpost such as the Brotherhood, they preferred tangible foes, not rumors and lore.

Danse idly glanced up at the IV line running into his arm. His dose was nearing its completion.

“When we are ready, we’ll move out to investigate the possibility of taking down a Courser,” he continued to say, authoritative tone edging his words just slightly. He took missions seriously, after all. “First, I want to speak with Proctor Teagan to ensure our weapons are sufficiently upgraded for the task. Perhaps analyze our ammunition to factor in the traits of fighting synths and ensure we take along the most effective for the task.”

Reed listened along then nodded in agreement.

“Your fight with Kellogg,” he pressed, half curious, half focusing on the mission, “You said he was practically a synth himself due to all the upgrades he had from the Institute. We may need to review your tactics to give us an idea of the possible things we might face with this hostile.”

The Knight stared at him for a moment as she recalled the event. Moments of that encounter flashed in her mind. The way he spoke. His confidence. The way he’d walked through bullets too.

She shook her head slightly, long hair spilling over one shoulder. A hand reached up and brushed away some that had fallen over the edge of her face.

“It wasn’t any tactics that won me that stand-off,” she admitted. “Not many people stand a chance at a Fatman Nuke at close range.”

It had nearly killed her as well, she remembered.

Paladin Danse blinked at her for a moment with a raised eyebrow before giving his own head a shake.

“Maybe we’ll keep that option as a Plan B, then,” he said, having flashbacks of his own about the last time he’d witnessed her using the high-payload weapon. If they could accomplish this mission without giving Reed access to a nuclear weapon, that would be the preferable method.

“When would we be moving out?” the Knight asked, idly picking at the edge of the tape on her arm as it held the IV needle in place.

“Within the next 24-48 hours, depending on what needs to be done for repairs and upgrades. Last I spoke to the Scribes on top-deck, a sizable radstorm was coming out of the West. Vertibird departure will likely be suspended until the bulk of the storm and winds pass through,” he said thoughtfully. He was both eager to be back out on mission, but also grateful for being able to drop his guard while aboard the mechanical marvel of the Prydwen. It was a catch twenty two for the senior officer. “Once we’re cleared for transport, we can continue with this lead and see if we can find a Courser.”

“That’s unfortunate we can't be on the road sooner,” she said honestly, a tone of jest in her voice. “It’s going to be difficult to get to sleep bunked by myself amongst the other recruits. Too bad I don’t still have clearance to occupy your quarters, sir. Perhaps then I would get a better nights rest, and be more ready to take on the next mission.”

Danse cast her a sidelong glance. Nobody else was currently in the room with them, and she’d spoken in tones low enough to not carry. It was cautious fun to joke back and forth in such a manner, what with them keeping their relationship a secret amongst the Brotherhood. He fought the slightest of smirks. It was a game they often engaged in when aboard. Still, they were always careful.

“How very unfortunate indeed,” he said, tone seemingly serious. “Only the most adept at stealth might be able to pull off such a maneuver without being caught. Perhaps I’ll make it easier for you and leave my quarters unlocked. Good luck, soldier.”

Reed stifled a chuckle as she sat back with a playful smile on her features. _He was right._ It would be almost impossible to make her way to the Paladin’s quarters without being detected. There was never a time when all aboard the Prydwen were asleep. Shifts patrolled at every hour. Scribes and recruits coming and going at all times. The likelihood of spending her evening with the senior officer was a slim chance.

_It didn’t mean she wouldn’t at least try, however._

Both of them resumed their nonchalant behavior as one of Knight Cade’s Scribes returned to check on the status of their treatments. It seemed that Reed would still need a little longer. Danse, however, was released to continue on his duties in the meantime. He held his arm bent for a few moments to ensure the site where the IV had just been wasn’t bleeding.

“I’ll see you at Proctor Teagan’s weapons cage when you’re done, soldier,” he said, once more resuming the senior officer role.

Reed was used to the transition by now. That he was indeed his title when aboard the ship. In truth, she enjoyed seeing him in his element. _It was who she had seen that first day in Cambridge, after all._

“Affirmative, sir,” she said, assuming her own change of tone. It was an unspoken understanding between the two. Professional roles when in a professional atmosphere. Recruit and senior officer. Nothing more. At least, not to prying eyes.

As he departed, Reed settled back into watching the golden liquid drip one droplet at a time into the IV line. It was nearly done. Perhaps another ten minutes more. Then it would be back into the fray. Back into the unknown. Chasing leads amongst the Commonwealth.

In the quiet room, the Knight started to mentally prepare for the coming days ahead.

It was not going to be easy.

* * *

He sighed into the nape of her neck, lips finding her delicate skin there and kissing at it heatedly before applying the lightest of nips. The muscles in his shoulders flexed as he held her smaller form slightly aloft and back against the cool steel hull within his quarters. His grip on her hips and thighs was firm, strong, able to move her against him with ease as the muscles in his armed flexed. Her legs were wrapped around his waist and twined behind his back with need as he moved against her, within her. He could feel her matching his own pace, moving against him, using her touch to communicate her pleasure. They had to be quiet, they had to be quick.

He could feel her fingertips as she held onto his shoulders, murmuring just barely enough to him to hear. Fingernails occasionally caressed his skin more sharply as he moved against her just right. A tingle of pleasure rippled through his body at the hitching of her breath as she began to grip at him more tightly, more readily. He could feel her growing tighter around his form, her body beginning to tense against him. The slightest of moans escaped her lips.

He cooed gently, “ _Shhh… Quiet, gorgeous....”_

It seemed almost cruel to utter those words, for the sound of her voice was immensely satisfying in moments such as these. The soft, breathless words. A soft sigh of a moan against his neck for his ears only. Still, as any good soldier listening to their senior officer, she tried her best to stay quiet as they moved together in the dim light. The sight of her biting her lip with eyes closed was enough to nearly draw a sound from his own lips. He sighed heavily, breathlessly, head dropping slightly as a gleam of sweat began to grace his chest and muscles. _Just a few more moments…_ he willed himself. The perfect forms of her breasts moved in time with his thrusting, rising and falling uninhibited in the cool air. With their position and neither hands free, he was tortured to look but not touch. _Perhaps later he would pay them much overdue attention._

It was getting increasingly more difficult to hold back. The risk of them getting caught. The warmth that enveloped his member, growing tighter with each thrust that brought his hips to meet hers, increasing in speed. She was gripping his back tightly now, fingernails nearly catching his skin as her body grew tense and the breath seemed to catch in her throat. A look of pleasure flashed across her features as she moved herself deeply against him. He could feel her orgasm in so many ways. Her touch, her legs gripping his hips, the way her female form gripped with need around his hardened member in waves of pleasure as he continued to pleasure her.

_… Ugh, yes… Yes, Reed… Just like that… Oh, just like that…_

He closed his eyes as his thrusts grew more lustful, willing himself to try not to make a sound. The words were but echoes in his mind as he savoured each moment. Her tight grip on him in all manners had brought him right to the edge, the intensity of pleasure only growing at the idea of having sent his lover into a blissful orgasm with his touches. By now they had grown to know one another, ones likes and dislikes. As his breath began to hitch, the impending threat of his own orgasm sending ripples of pleasure through each limb, she yielded the softest of moans as she sighed against the skin of his neck as if encouraging him.

Danse’s body came to tense as he felt himself reach climax, sighing heavily, quietly, as each wave of pleasure saw himself spent within her. He gripped her hips tightly as his head dropped against her shoulder, muscles flexing against the coolness of the air around them as his thrusts continued deeply for several moments before coming to blissful stillness. His chest rose and fell heavily against her form. He could feel the perfect shapes of flesh that were her breasts pressed up against his skin with each breath. He savoured the glow they shared together for a moment, neither one moving for a time.

With delicate movements, she unwrapped her legs from his waist, releasing him from her grip. Each bare foot coming to touch the cold steel floor beneath them as she kissed him deeply in the secrecy of his quarters. He relished a sigh from her, lips still pressed against his, as one of his hands cupped her breast as a thumb teasingly circled the sensitive tissue.

A knock at the steel door caused both parties to jump.

“Paladin Danse? Elder Maxson has requested you at the bridge, sir,” an authoritative voice rang out. One of the Knights manning the patrol on top deck had been sent to track down the senior officer, most likely.

Danse sighed as he touched his forehead briefly to hers before turning to address the door. “Yes, I’m on my way,” his tone was equally as authoritative. It gave no hint to the breathlessness of the moment.

Boots could be heard on the steel just outside the door, soon disappearing with distance.

“You’d best get back to your duties,” he said jestfully in a quiet voice, features still softened by a satisfied smile. He took a moment to admire her form before they would be forced back out onto the main area of the Prydwen.

He drew a quick breath as her hand gingerly, playfully, traced the form of his still somewhat erect manhood.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered, placing a last kiss on his neck. Swiftly, she returned to her fatigues.

Danse couldn’t help a satisfied smirk as he noticed the slightest tremors in her movements, legs shaking in a manner barely perceptible to most. Drawing his gaze away, he himself got dressed quickly, tucking away still-sensitive parts with care. Within a few moments, he was back in BOS fatigues and ever the figure of authority for his role aboard the Prydwen. Even his mind seemed to return to duties once he was dressed for the part. He wondered casually about Elder Maxson’s reason for council.

“Are you going to stay?” he asked, looking at his companion.

Reed smiled softly at him. Gently she shook her head, red-copper locks moving in the low light.

“It might be more difficult to leave later,” she said, the sound of her voice nearly returned to normal. The faintest edge of breathlessness still touched a few notes. “If you leave first, and the coast is clear, I can slip away and no one will ever know.”

The Paladin couldn’t help but appreciate her logic. _Such an incredible woman, in so many ways._ No wonder he had been so drawn to her. Wrapping an arm around her, he pulled her close for one last kiss before they’d be forced to part. The softness of her lips, her body pressed against his _. How had he gotten so lucky?_

After a moment they parted. Once more Danse checked to ensure he was properly dressed before they ventured once more back into the belly of the Prydwen. A heavy latch and the metallic sound of bolted hinges announced his departure. As no one was immediately about, Knight Reed slipped away without a further glance back, settling immediately back into her duties.

The Paladin watched his recruit leave as he enjoyed the warmth in his chest. How was it that fondness could grow with each passing day? It was still foreign to him. Still an anomaly. Still something he didn’t quite understand. Yet, it brought him a kind of joy that the Brotherhood never had. A way of feeling that he was more than happy to explore and continue with.

With a mental shake of his thoughts, he returned his focus back to his duties.

Elder Maxson. Reports. Matters to attend to. Mission prep. Saving the Commonwealth.

Without a further hesitation, he returned to the bridge.


	3. Greentech Genetics

“What the _hell?_ ” she said quietly to herself as they entered the mysterious building.

Instantly they were on guard, weapons hot.

Beeps from her Pip-Boy were sounding off in rapid succession as they managed to hone in on the location of their tracked Courser from C.I.T. It appeared to be occupying a building called Greentech Genetics. At least, that’s what the pinging signal had indicated and had lead them to.

Once they entered the building, there was a good hunch that they had indeed found their Courser’s location.

Bodies were spread out over the floor of the entrance way. Bright red blood was thrown up the walls in dramatic fashion like some sort of morbid artists painting. Each of the fallen bodies appeared to be well-armed as well as properly geared. Weapons lay strewn about, recently used. Some type of militia style group. Not as high tech as the Brotherhood, but it was a wonder what they were doing here as well. _Had they also been tracking the Courser?_ Or, more likely, had it found _them_?

The Paladin looked over at the Knight in his company just briefly. They’d planned out their mission, gone over gear checks, weapons checks and loaded several magazines with the appropriate ammunition for the job. However, he was the only one currently outfitted in the BOS issued T-60 Power Armor. For some reason, Reed had insisted on instead using personnel armor instead. A full-faced helmet, leather and steel plating covering her torso. There was no ounce of skin showing. Each inch was covered. However, it made him feel heavily uneasy about the mission. Yet she hadn’t backed down when he openly discussed it with her. She’d stood firmly in her resolve.

Power Armor was incredibly powerful and able to resist a huge onslaught of damage. In tight quarters, however, it could be bulky. Slow. It wasn’t always the unit of stealth. If they were to fight within the confines of a building, they would need both strength and agility to accomplish the mission.

Still, Paladin Danse didn’t like seeing her apparently so vulnerable.

Both parties jumped as a voice rang out over a nearby internal intercom. Apparently some of the milita group was still around.

_“The Courser’s on the second floor. Kill on sight. Send reinforcements to the Lobby in case there are more.”_

It seemed there were still others that were alive in the building and in pursuit of the alleged synth killing machine. From what they had seen of the lobby, it was obvious that this hostile wasn’t one to be taken lightly. Bodies all over. Bullet holes racked up the walls as someone fell while holding their trigger. Part of Reed was curious to see what this machine even looked like. Part of her, the smallest part, wanted to just turn around and leave.

“Let’s move,” Danse said as he took point, laser rifle up and at the ready as they climbed the stairs to the second level.

Part of the building seemed to have shifted. Ceiling tiles littered the floor as they walked. Debris was everywhere in the run-down location. They would have to be careful where they stepped, least they lose their footing when it came to engaging the enemy.

It seems they wouldn’t have to wait long.

A hailstorm of bullets and laser rifle rounds could be heard sounding off in the nearest room. Danse, wearing his protective suit, opted to look and find out exactly what they were dealing with. The sound of a turret whirled to life, firing off rounds at an incredible speed into their immediate direction. Voices and shouting orders echoed over to them. Members of the group that was also occupying this very same building. Tracking the very same Courser. And, by the sounds of it, doing very poorly in holding their hostile at a disadvantage.

Knight Reed had been on many excursions with her senior officer previous to this one. Missions that had seemed incredibly difficult at the time. Mission that turned out to be truly a test of ones measure. In the end, they had always managed to find a way to succeed and overcome the odds. This somehow felt different. It didn’t sit right with her.

“Who are these people?” she asked her commander as she traded her .45 automatic rifle for her now highly modified, rapid-fire .22 with scope. The .45s packed a punch for the more challenging of foes. However, three bullets fired in the same timeframe as one bullet from her .45… it made sense to switch for now if they were dealing with humans.

“I don’t know,” the Paladin said, voice firm and with its dangerous edge. He ducked back as a flurry of bullets was directed their way. _Dammit, Reed, why didn’t you wear the Power Armor?_ He grit his teeth slightly as the split-second decision making skills came into effect. “If they see us as an enemy, then we treat them like one in return.”

Reed nodded. It would have been difficult to attempt to talk to the group anyway, what with all the bullets and all.

“Affirmative, sir,” she said. A fingerless glove gripped her pistol, fingertip pressed to the trigger-guard.

They rushed forward and joined the fight.

Paladin Danse was quick to dismantle the MK-1 machinegun turret that was posted directly across from them with several rounds from his high-powered laser rifle. The equipment exploded with a resounding boom, briefly illuminating the area for a split second. To his right, three human militia gunners poured out of the adjacent hallway as they became aware of more than just the military synth as a threat.

Reed was quick to take them out with several well-played, rapid-fire pulses to the head and upper bodies. It was unsettling how quickly they went down. _Who were they? How did they even hope to stand a chance against a Courser when she was able to take them down without so much as a challenge?_ She stared at the bodies at her feet for a moment before snapping her focus back to the mission.

If these gunners wanted to take Danse and herself down then they would have to try harder than that.

Quickly she reloaded with a fresh magazine while she heard her companion beside her do the very same. They had a nearly unspoken rhythm now when it came to working missions. At least for most matters. Reflex, muscle memory, thinking two steps ahead. That’s what kept them safe, what they relyed on. Each played a role. Failure to fill that role would affect the other. It had to be seamless.

 _“The Courser is now on the third floor. Reports of the second intruder in the east wing near the courtyard,”_ the intercom announced once more.

“Guess they know we’re here,” the Knight said, looking at her senior officer.

He nodded, “Then we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

* * *

A series of hallways up ahead made for a challenging push to continue forward. The human gunners they faced off with were utilizing laser rifles and pistols, much the same as the duo was usually wielding. Danse maintained point, the steel plating of his armor very much unphased by the energy-based weapons. Reed used her agility to navigate and press forward by maintaining cover through the cramped and barricaded hallways. Not many could stand against her automatic pistol when she unloaded the clip. The tactics were working well thus far.

Announcements continued to rattle over the intercom. The most recent one Reed hadn’t been able to make out as she struggled hand to hand with a particularly difficult gunner before managing to put him down with a bullet to the brain. Something about sending reinforcements to their immediate area, or something like that. Chest heaved slightly with the exertion. _Why didn’t anyone wear helmets?_ It was the one thing she had insisted upon even after leaving her Power Armor behind. A single, well-placed bullet could take down even the strongest and most heavily armed human.

Up ahead was an obvious choke point where the two held only the low ground. In front was an open balcony walkway that left nothing as cover or protection. Gunners manned the high ground. They were at a very obvious disadvantage.

“Wait a moment,” Reed touched her senior officer’s arm, keeping him from moving into sight. “There’s a terminal up ahead. If it’s linked to the system, I might be able to disable the turret defenses and keep the odds a little more in our favor.”

Nick had taught her a few things about hacking terminals. At least, the more basic programs.

Carefully she crept forward and began to make short work of the keystrokes. Sure enough, the terminal was network linked to the defense system operating within the building. If the gunners had hacked it to turn the turrets on, then she could hack it to turn them off. They hadn’t even bothered to lock-out the system. It beeped in a negative fashion. Again her fingers caressed the keys, trying to find the pattern. A moment later the network beeped its approval.

_Turrets were officially offline._

“Reed, get down!” Danse yelled as he pulled her back from the terminal, tucking her beneath him as he turned his back to the coming missile round fired from above. The world around them tilted with a boom. A blossom of heat wafted over the two as Reed curled up protectively beneath the Power Suit above her.

A ringing in her ears was all she heard for a few moments afterwards before sounds began to become clear once again. Giving her head a hearty shake, she reached for her automatic .45. Only the slightest of disorientations touched her. The adrenalin pumping through her system kept her body heavily alert.

“ _Danse_! You okay?!” she asked, slightly yelling. Hearing hadn’t returned completely yet.

“Affirmative,” he said with a cough. At most it had knocked the wind out of him, perhaps weakened a few of the panels on the posterior side of his suit. Perhaps a few more rounds would have done him in, but a single round was enough to walk off. “Get to cover.”

But she was already on it, having slid to the doorway and pressed herself against it. Seven gunners were between them and the next level of the building. Three stood on the open-concept walkway. Four were above in the next balcony. _At least one had a rocket launcher, apparently._

“I’ll take low, you go high,” the Paladin said as he settled in on the opposite side of the doorway. They would go on the count of three. It was an unspoken agreement between the two.

On the third mark, each ducked out from cover and began to unleash return fire on those opposing them. Danse with his laser rounds, red and hot, the ammunition nearly hissing through the air with the promise of pain when it found its mark. Reed turned her attention to those on the upper level, squeezing the trigger in short bursts to maintain accuracy as she forced the gunners above to step back into cover. Her main focus was to identify the one with the rocket launcher and take them out.

 _There!_ On the far side. A female gunner was reloading a missle into the launcher. Reed squeezed her trigger repeatedly. Each round was just shy of finding its mark.

“Down!” Reed yelled as she tucked away from the doorway once more.

Again the launcher directed its payload towards the duo. Only this time the shot was taken too quickly and instead caught the wall nearest the doorway instead of the space inside. It erupted harmlessly.

“Got her,” Paladin Danse said as he leaned out and took aim at the high ground. From his vantage he could see the one operating the launcher clear as day. Without hesitation, he opened fire. The familiar sound of laser ammunition pulsed around them. The gunner staggered back, clutching at their torso before falling. The rocket launcher clattered harmlessly over the balcony’s edge and to the floor below.

Bodies littered both the walkway and the balcony. Humans, just like them.

It was a different feeling to be fighting humans for a change. Typically it was feral ghouls. Mirelurks. Super Mutants. Reed almost felt slightly sorry for them. _Almost._ If the gunners hadn’t engaged them without question, perhaps it wouldn’t have had to end this way.

_Sometimes ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ wasn’t the best course of action to take._

_“We’ve lost contact with sectors two and four,”_ the announcement boomed out again. Was that a hint of anxiety in the broadcaster’s voice? _“The Courser’s after the girl. Anyone alive needs to get up to the top floor immediately. That’s an_ order!”

“Girl?” Reed asked. “Seems we’re missing out on some vital intel with this whole exchange.”

Paladin Danse nodded, “Our priority in this mission is the Courser. If we find out what else is going on, then address it at that time. Until then, we need that chip.”

Quickly the two moved out. It felt as if this entire event between the gunners and the Courser was about to reach its conclusion.

* * *

Unfortunately, each gunner was dead by the time Knight Reed and Paladin Danse made it to the final floor. There would be no answers from them about how the gunners had come to be involved in this situation. Save, perhaps, for the girl that had been mentioned previously by the voice over the intercom. Maybe she knew. It was likely the owner of the intercom voice was also a member amongst the deceased that trailed through the upper floors. It would be impossible to distinguish who he might have been from the rest of the mercenary militia scattered around them.

Paladin Danse and Knight Reed tread forward carefully. No more bullets hissed. No more intercom audio relays boomed out orders. Nobody was shouting. It grew quiet. It seemed that now it would be their time to finally meet the cause for all this commotion. Their goal. Their mission.

An educated voice came out of the room beyond.

“Are you here for the synth?” it asked.

_It was the Courser speaking to them._

A female voice could be heard locked away in the room beyond. It asked for help. Faintly. Distantly. It was not the priority, after all.

 _So, the girl was also a synth_. That explained the Courser. Tools for the Institute. Killing machines. Nothing to stand in their way. One of the best tactical options for recovering runaway synths that had managed to escape the confines of the Institute. Nick had been a discarded prototype, left behind by the Institute without a second glance. However, this synth had escaped on its own. A programming error, perhaps?

“If you’re not here for the girl, then you’re here for me. What is it you want?” the Courser demanded.

Reed and Danse shared a look as they took a moment to prepare for what was about to come next. The calm before the storm. The utmost focus. It was a moment where time stood still, where details of the world around them both came into fantastic focus or disappeared completely in irrelevancy. Where a weapon became an extension of ones self, ones purpose. Each action, each step, each movement could bring a person closer to victory or be the error that would cost a life, or more.

It all happened in a flash.

Thundering steps announced Danse’s movements as he rounded the corner, immediately falling into the familiar motion of taking aim and pulling the trigger one pulse after another with the hostile in his sights. Reed was only scarce seconds behind as she hoisted the automatic .45 rifle to rest against the familiar nook of her shoulder as she braced for the recoil.

They worked as one without words or directions.

The Paladin’s armor consumed the majority of the coming white-hot laser rounds from the hostile as they faced off. Each landing shot resulted in a barely audible hiss over the din of the firefight, a subtle trail of smoke wafting into the air as the armor held firm. Flashes of red against white illuminated the crumbling walls of the Greentech Genetics building during their exchange as the sounds of laser rifles ricocheted around the room.

Reed was reloading. Practiced, quick. There was no time to fumble or break stride. As she hoisted her rifle up once more, .45 rounds chambered and ready to unleash hell, the familiar click came of her senior officer’s rifle as well. They tried to time it so that there was never a time where each was not covering the other. Without taking her eyes away from their target, she heard the familiar sound of the laser rifle cell rounds being loaded. If Reed was fast, then Danse was lightning when it came to managing his weapons.

However, it didn’t seem fast enough.

The Courser in her sights suddenly disappeared with a shimmer into the air.

_Fuck!_

“Danse!” she yelled, seeking confirmation that her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

“Where is he?!” her senior officer asked as he swept the room.

Had the Courser managed to teleport? If he did, they were completely screwed.

Reed jumped back with a squeal as a white-hot round glanced off her arm. The leather and plating she wore was protection against many things, even laser rounds. However, when it fell only on the leather fatigues worn beneath the steel and metal plating, it was enough to burn. Fortunately, it was not enough to penetrate.

“He’s still here!” she shouted. One glance down verified that her wound was only superficial. Automatic rifle snapped back into position within a heartbeat.

 _Dammit!_ “He’s stealthed!” Danse announced.

Both Brotherhood soldiers ducked into cover until they could verify the target’s location. The Courser was utilizing a Stealthboy. A tool that offered brief moments of invisibility through an electronic optial relay web that was able to concel the wearer for short durations. Its was an incredible piece of technology. The Brotherhood was familiar with it and had at times even used it for specific missions in the past. However, like many things, it wasn’t perfect. A subtle shimmer of optical disturbance was enough to identify the general area of a targets location due to the slightest processing lag in its operating system whenever the wearer moved too quickly.

“By the stairs,” the Paladin directed, eyes settling on the distortion there.

Verification came as white-hot rounds of laser-rifle fire erupted from the seemingly empty space that moved before them. It gave away his approximate location but did not allow for either of the BOS soldiers to get a direct chance at headshot or even to focus on specific areas to target.

A hand reached up and grasped the familiar cold orb that was attached to her waist. _Ping._ The sound of a pin was lost amidst the sounds of battle. She lobbed the fragmentation grenade carefully, mindfully, focusing on the area where the Courser was holding his own. Seconds passed like minutes. _One…. Two…. Three….._

The explosion wasn’t huge, but it was effective. A figure glitched into view for only the span of perhaps a single breath. In that moment, red rifle rounds lit up the disoriented synth without mercy. With another distortion, the figure of the Courser once more slipped into illusion.

“Again,” the commanding officer said as he reloaded, but his recruit was already two steps ahead.

Another explosion rattled the building around them, bending the railing on the stairs and tearing at the floor without pause as another frag grenade landed nearest the Courser. This time there was no glitch. The Stealthing mechanism failed completely and cast their mission target into full view.

He staggered now. He was still fighting, still trying to hold his advantage, but he was being overpowered. An arm hung limp at his side. The skin on his face was harshly torn.

Danse had never faced off against a synth like this before. The amount of ammunition that had been thrown against the creation was staggering. And yet it kept fighting. Not even just fighting, but holding its own against them. No wonder it had torn through the ranks of the gunners that had tried to fend it off without so much as a pause. Briefly, he wondered if this was why Gladen had been forced to resort to the payload of a Fatman nuke to deal with Kellogg.

A small part of him wondered if perhaps they should have brought one along after all.

“How good is your aim, sir?” she asked, casting him a sidelong glance from where she sat behind cover. It wasn’t a question.

He narrowed his eyes a moment, then nodded.

With an arm as good as any man in their command, she hurled the rocket launcher missile across the length of the room to where the Courser stood staggered. They’d lost the opportunity to pick up the launcher after it fell from the second story balcony, but Reed had not passed up the opportunity to at least stow away some of the ammunition for it.

He watched as the missile rocked through the air in swirling arc, tracking it within his sight until it was just ahead of the intended landing zone. Smoothly he pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. On the third, a boom erupted that engulfed the mysterious figure in flame and heat. A second missile came rotating through the air immediately after. Without missing a beat he took the next shot. The second explosion rocked the room around them. Somewhere a steel beam groaned as a wall shifted.

The Courser didn’t get up.

It slouched to the floor, skin still steaming. Its jaw was badly dislocated to the side, an eye falling out of one socket nauseatingly. Reed had approached the creation with a strange confidence. It wasn't dead yet. Just badly damaged. Roughly she kicked it to the side, put a foot on its skull and unloaded half a clip into its frontal cortex. The chip they needed was at the base of the spine.

It took some time to remove the chip imbedded in its skull. A gruesome task that seemed almost barbaric in its execution. Still, the Vault dweller took such a task upon herself without even a hesitation, claiming she knew what they were looking for after dealing with Kellogg nearly a year ago. However, the skull through which she dug seemed oddly human-like. The blood on her hands also indistinguishable from that of a human. It was no wonder that these synths were so heavily feared. Many of the traits they carried, even the biological traits, seemed to be directly copied from their human counterparts. They almost seemed... well, real.

Instead, Danse busied himself with investigating the female synth that stood captured behind a reinforced door at the far end of the room. She, too, was indistinguishable from that of any other human they might have met in the Commonwealth. Had she denied being a synth, they would have probably been inclined to believe her. At least, most would. Perhaps not the folks at Diamond City.

When he returned from his investigation, his mood had grown somewhat sour.

Reed was wiping off the Courser chip as well as her hands by the time he returned.

_At least one thing had gone according to plan._

“What about the female synth?” the Knight asked, nodding towards the captive.

Paladin Danse turned slightly as he cast a steely gaze in that direction. “She doesn’t have any openly useful information. I’ll radio the Prydwen and inform them that there is a synth within this facility for possible extraction. Elder Maxson may want to investigate this possible source of information,” his tone was unyielding.

Knight Reed could sympathize with synths somewhat, especially after working so closely with Nick in the past, as well as the ghouls from Slog. Still, this specific situation was different. This was too close to their goal, too close to the intel. The female synth had seen what went down. Even though she’d been hunted by the Courser, supposedly, it did not mean that this was not an elaborate trap by the Institute to stop them on their mission. Who knew if she was truly trying to escape them, or if she was actually working with them in some eleaborate scheme?

They couldn’t take that risk when they were so close to finding a way in. Couldn’t trust her at her word. Not this time. Perhaps in another place, perhaps in another situation.

Silently, Gladen apologized to the synth in her mind. There would be no way of saving her from this situation.

_Wrong place at the wrong time._

The Commonwealth was unforgiving like that.

Reed had learned that a long time ago.


	4. Railroad

It felt strange to be operating without Paladin Danse by her side on this mission, but it had been for the best. Unfortunately, the Brotherhood had left somewhat of a bad taste in the mouths of more than a few groups of people operating out of the Commonwealth. If they wanted to succeed, they would have to operate slightly outside of normal protocol. Even if that meant gathering intel with the accompaniment of non-Brotherhood associates.

Even more strange was the fact that he had requested, if she were to have to go without him, to at least take someone more widely accepted as backup so that she wouldn’t be taken by surprise in the event that anything were to go wrong. It had been Danse who suggested she get in touch with her old friend Nick. _Well, after several other tactical discussions had taken place prior to that point._ Most of them including her senior officer somehow coming along, which wasn’t the most logical operative choice.

Doctor Amari had been immensely helpful yet again. However, the Courser chip was far above and beyond her skills to properly decrypt. The Institute utilized incredibly advanced forms of technology and this chip was no exception. Far more difficult to obtain and extract details than the chip that had been inside Kellogg’s skull. Yet hope was not lost. The good doctor directed them towards a group of underground operatives that may have some capability to decode the hardware. A group simply known as The Railroad.

Danse would not be coming with her because they were the group responsible for aiding in the escape and relocation of Gen3s from the Institute. It went against the foundation of what Danse believed in, what he worked for within the Brotherhood. That bias could negatively impact their mission. Nick seemed a much more agreeable option in his stead. Plus, the synth had seemed excited about the endeavour. Nearly every synth hiding or living within the Commonwealth was familiar with the infamous group.

The old bricks beneath the church were heavily decayed and falling into ruin. A few of the walls had collapsed already long ago. It hadn’t taken long for Nick and Gladen to clear out the feral ghouls that were wandering below the old church.

“Seems you’ve been getting some practice,” Nick said as they continued forward, glancing down briefly at their handiwork. “Then again, I guess you’ve been out in the field for quite some time now, huh?”

Reed smiled. The familiar Boston accent was a welcome thing to hear by her side. Paladin Danse, of course, was her much preferred companion for accomplishing missions, but Nick was welcome along anytime. “A while now, yes. You tend to get good fast. Not much choice,” she said lightheartedly.

“Think they’ll be able to help us?” Nick asked curiously. He was wielding his favorite pipe pistol as they cleared the tunnels.

“Maybe,” she admitted with a shrug. “I hope so.”

It had taken the duo nearly two hours to navigate the streets of the downtown corridor, following the red-lined Freedom Trail. It wound through the streets and lead to specific points of interest throughout the immediate area. However, the redline was more than just a tour guide through the ruins of Boston. It had been adapted to be a code, a secret message only for those who were looking to find it. Nick had written down what he saw and took note of any relative information that might offer a clue as to how to get in touch with the Railroad.

Their search had lead them to a small, rather non-descript building.

Now they stood below, in the catacombs, staring at an apparent code-related lock that was wired to some sort of hidden wall.

_Bingo._

Gladen entered the code by spinning the dial as Nick read off the letters in sequence. She lifted a brow as they got halfway through the repeated letters. _Did it really just spell R-A-I-L-R-O-A-D?_

That was like having the password to a computer terminal set as _P-A-S-S-W-O-R-D._

Yet, these people were apparently the only ones remotely capable of decrypting the Courser chip and obtaining the access codes to gain entry into the Institute. Reed chuckled without much humour. _Hopefully their technology was better than their security measures for hiding their ‘secret location’._

Stone on stone growled as the wall to their left slid out of the way and revealed an entire room and hallways beyond.

Weapons at the ready, Nick and Gladen moved to investigate. He was wearing his duster and fedora. Gladen was wearing her familiar unmarked Commonwealth armor with leathers beneath.

Suddenly the room was bright as day with the sound of floodlights being thrown on at full power.

“Stop right there.”

The voice was authoritative, female.

As her green eyes adjusted against the sudden brightness, the Brotherhood Knight was able to make out the figures that stood just ten paces ahead of them. One in the center, the one who spoke. She stood confidently, fearlessly. No doubt their leader. To her left was a woman wielding a minigun. To her right was an apparently unarmed chap with a sour expression.

“You went through a lot of effort to arrange this meeting. But before we go any further, answer my questions,” the woman in charge said again. She spoke loudly and clearly. There was no jest in her tone. “Who the hell… are you?”

Reed bristled slightly. She hated these kinds of games by now. “Why don’t you tell me who you are first?”

Not backing down seemed to have a positive effect on their exchange. The woman in charge looked Reed up and down as if re-evaluating her initial impression.

“In a world full of suspicion, treachery and hunters – we’re the synths’ only friends. We’re the Railroad. So answer my question,” the woman responded evenly.

“I followed the Freedom Trail looking for the Railroad,” Reed explained. “I’m not your enemy.”

“If that’s true, you have nothing to fear,” the leader said.

* * *

Tinker Tom was an interesting fellow. He was the main person when it came to analyzing and decrypting any type of tech than they needed. The Institute was... a focus of his. A little eccentric, but he seemed a nice enough fellow compared to other eccentrics that were out wandering the Commonwealth. Whether or not he had the skill to decode the Courser chip was left to be decided, however.

Dez had let the duo in after the questioning had continued for a while. The who, the what, the whys. All very straightforward. Matters had changed when Reed brought up being in the possession of an intact Courser chip. At first there was disbelief. Such a thing was no joking matter to these people. Their life’s work was accomplishing missions to gain intel against the Institute or aid synths wishing to escape its unyielding grip on them.

A gentleman named Deacon had assisted in getting both Reed and Nick through the front door. Somehow he knew about the success of their mission against the Courser, as well as Reed’s reputation to a certain extent. The Knight had studied him for a moment. If that was true, then he knew she was operating with the Brotherhood. _What else did he know about her?_ she wondered.

Regardless, they were in. And Desdemona had agreed to help them… on one condition: If they managed to decrypt the codes, they would pass those along to Reed for her use but would maintain ownership of the physical chip.

Seeing as the chip would be useless to Reed without a means to decode it, the exchange seemed fair. No doubt Paladin Danse would have disapproved. And the Knight still wasn’t sure how she would ever explain giving up such technology to Elder Maxson. Then again, nothing seemed to make their leader happy these days.

“This place isn’t half-bad,” Nick was saying as he looked around the HQ.

Reed felt better having him here. The Railroad had a soft spot for synths, and Nick was surprisingly well-known amongst the Commonwealth. That had to account for some of the success they were having on this venture, even if that fact wasn’t openly discussed between the two factions.

“Annnnnd…. Got it! We got the code,” Tinker Tom announced as he tapped away excitedly at the modified analyst terminal that he was using the work on the chip. “Let me load that on a holotape for you.”

“Thanks, Tom,” Reed said truthfully. Dez cleared her throat beside the Knight.

“As agreed, you get the codes and we keep the chip,” she repeated, as if making herself doubly clear. “However, let me set one thing straight. If you use the data from that chip and find out any more information with regards to the Institute, you tell us first. Otherwise your relationship with us will be in jeopardy.”

Gladen looked at the other woman for a moment before giving a single nod. The Railroad was a valuable asset. Despite the Brotherhood’s reservations about synths, it was impossible to believe that all synths were bad. The world was not that black and white. These people operated in a different manner from the other factions. Secretive. Hidden away. Doing good for the few rather than trying to overhaul the world for the many. In that, they were both seeking the change the world for the better. _They were more alike than they probably realized._

“Thank you, Desdemona,” the Knight was genuinely grateful. “If I find out any information that may assist you in your activities against the Institute, I’ll do my best to relay the message. Nick here is my go-to for intel and communications when I’m operating within the Brotherhood and unable to get away. I trust he could deliver said information to you if the situation warranted it?”

Dez looked at Nick with a smile. It was the first time she had smiled since they’d arrived. “Absolutely.”

“You guys do good work here,” Nick said with his unique and unforgettable accent. “I’d be happy to help.”

“We appreciate that,” the Railroad leader said as she lit a cigarette. The smoke curled gently in the relatively still air below ground. “In the meantime, good luck with the codes.”

No doubt the woman before them was wondering what, in fact, they were going to be using those codes for. If it was for attempting transport into the Institute itself, no such technology existed outside its walls to even try such a feat. Even if it did, the possibilities for matters to go horrible wrong were staggering.

Reed thanked her once more as they departed, holotape in hand, Nick the synth in tow, and some new perspective on the workings within the Commonwealth after seeing what the Railroad was truly like.

_Nothing was ever black and white out here._

“Where to now, kid?” Nick asked as they walked. His yellow eyes were illuminated in the half-light of the underground tunnels.

His current companion rubbed the back of her neck briefly as they walked. “The next step is to take these codes and meet up with a contact of mine. Virgil. The scientist from the Institute. The one who suggested this whole mess with the Courser chip to begin with. We struck a bargain. If he could get me into the Institute, then I would try to bring him back some highly classified serum from the Bioscience division without getting caught. But, first things first… We need to get into the Institute.”

“And that’s why you needed those codes,” Nick managed to deduce.

She nodded. “Yes. Now what we need to do… is build some type of relay, or technology, similar to what they use for entering and exiting their facility in which we can use the codes to gain access ourselves,” she sounded tired.

Nick was quiet for a moment before he looked at her again. “How are you going to do that?”

Reed laughed then.

“I have no idea, Nick.”


	5. Self-Doubt

She was tired.

Physically, mentally, almost to the soul kind of tired. It was easy to muster resolve in the heat of each adrenalin-packed moment or in the midst of a battle as it broke out in front of a person. Keeping that resolve during the downtimes, during the days when the radstorms kept people inside, when the mission didn’t have an obvious course of action or couldn’t be completed with sheer force and determination.... That’s when resolve and determination began to break down piece by piece.

They hadn’t stopped back at the Prydwen physically to report on their meeting with the Railroad. Reed had instead sent along a communication that everything had gone well. Goodness knew it was a poor idea to keep Paladin Danse out of the loop when it came to intel for a mission. Seems he was assisting in a secondary mission in the meantime, currently posted out in the field and would return soon after recon was complete. It made sense. Keeping a soldier such as himself cooped up aboard the airship was like keeping a powerful weapon back at base in case they'd need it later. Why not utilize it in the moment? 

“How do you do it, Nick?” she asked, blowing gently onto the steaming forkful of noodles that Takahashi had served them with his trademark phrase.

Synths didn’t appear to eat, or at least, didn’t have to in order to survive. Nick was a good sport at times. Most of the time he just appeared to enjoy coming along for the ride. He’d been joking with Takahashi as soon as they sat down. Seems the two robots were good friends going way back. And it appeared that Nick could understand the poor broken robot chef. 

“Do what?” he asked, curious as he tilted his head. It was amazing how human his glowing eyes and facial features could appear sometimes. As if he truly did have some kind of soul in the midst of all that metal and synthetic parts. 

“Exist out here,” she said with a heavy voice. The noodles were delicious, but somehow tasted bland today. “Everybody keeps asking everyone to pick a side. To declare war on the world based on the narrowest of beliefs. Everybody is always fighting everybody. And there’s no clear answer as to who to side with anymore. The Brotherhood? They’ve got these… these blinders on that keep them from seeing the good in the world. They mean well, but they go about things in such a brutal way. And the Railroad? I’m so happy that they’re helping synths escape. Helping them find a place in the world. But that doesn’t change anything. Not with the big picture.”

Reed made a face that looked like a mixture of frustration, impatience and sadness. “I’d be lying if I said this has been easy. And since joining the Brotherhood, I felt like I had a place in this world, you know? But now… Is that really what I want to be, Nick? After the Institute, after that target is eliminated, they’ll focus onto their black and white view of everything else. They’ll start to try and clear out the Commonwealth. If I help them, Nick, they’ll come after you guys next. Or some other group. I've even heard rumours amongst the recruits about small covert missions to interocate well-off settlers with bountiful crops in order to lay claim to some of the produce. In the name of the Brotherhood. It would make sense to perhaps work with the settlements... but intimidating farmers? I hope that's not true. And now the war on synths. The war on all ghouls. Shit, Nick... The bombs fell over two hundred years ago and the world has changed, but have humans...?”

An internal struggle had been developing in the Knight over the past couple of months. Working closely with Danse had been an incredible insight into the perspective of the Brotherhood and its workings. Even he, at times, had made exceptions to their protocols. A man who bled the Brotherhood, lived and breathed it, making decisions outside of the norm based on individualized situations? That spoke to how incredibly inflexible the current regime was. He would never speak openly of it, of course. But letting the hatchling Deathclaw go had violated one of their protocols. As well as not killing Nick. Not killing the ghouls of the Slog. If Danse could see it, then why couldn't the rest of them?

“There isn’t an easy answer to this one, kid,” Nick said, tone serious for a change. “When I was… disposed of by the Institute, I didn’t have much out here myself. A discarded synth dropped into a world I’d never seen. I guess, in that, you and I are kind of alike, huh? People back then, well, they were kind enough. Once they realized I wasn’t a monster, they treated me much the same. Allowed me to work with them. Settlers, you know.

“But over the years, the many years, word of the Institute began to come out. Abductions. Replacements. The event in Diamond City really set matters back and threw the whole concept of synths into a unanimously bad light. I managed to work my way out of it, of course. Otherwise I wouldn’t still be in these walls. But others? Yeah, they don’t got it so easy.

“Not sure what I can really tell you, Ms. Reedt. We all make bad choices. Or the wrong choices. Or choices we regret later. But as long as you do the best you can, then you’re already ahead of the game. The fact you're questioning things, well, that says more than most,” the synth said.

It was moments like these that made Reed question the Brotherhood’s agenda to destroy all synthetic life. Nick was one of the kindest people she'd met in the Commonwealth.

A half-smile touched her features.

“Thanks, Nick,” her voice seemed to be growing warmer again. “You’re one of the few people I feel like I can talk to out here. One of the few who understands, maybe more than most, what it’s like from where I’m sitting.”

“Don’t mention it, kid,” Nick’s tone returned to being light-hearted. “If you ever need anything, you know where I am.”

“Might not be a bad idea to get checked out before we head into the Glowing Sea,” she said as she pushed some noodles around with her fork. There was a lot on her mind. “Know if there are any good docs on the way to that part of hell?”

“As a matter of fact, Doctor Sun operates a small little business this side of Diamond City. Not a talkative chap, but he’s straightforward and knows his stuff. I’d hope so, at least, seeing as he’s a doctor and all,” Nick said as he straightened out his duster.

With Danse being out on mission, there was no sense is hanging around at the noodle stand or the nearby bar to wait for him to return. Nick was well enough armed, familiar with the world and wouldn’t get radiation sickness due to being mostly mechanical. Plus, Reed knew the way now. _For the most part._ It wouldn’t take nearly as long to meet with Virgil and be back to the Prydwen as it had the first time they'd ventured out.

Part of her knew that Paladin Danse would disapprove of this course of action. A half-smile touched her features. _Most definitely he would disapprove._ But for all they knew, the codes they’d obtained to highjack the transmitter’s signal could be time-sensitive. It could only be a matter of time before the Institute suspected something had gone horribly arry with their Courser when it failed to check-in. Their only chance was to try and keep two steps ahead. Even if that meant pressing on into the Glowing Sea without her commanding officier.

Reed finished her meal and tried to push the majority of her thoughts away, as some were proving to be slightly troublesome or distracting. Boots on the ground typically meant less worrying about the smaller things. It would be nice to be back out on the road. Focusing on important matters.

“I’ll meet with Doctor Sun, pick up some radiation treatment chems and meet you outside Diamond City in about an hour,” she said, standing up and tossing Takahashi a few extra caps for the company. “Ever ride on a vertibird, Nick?”

“Can’t say that I have, no,” he said, raising an eyebrow slightly.

Reed smiled.

“You want to?”

* * *

Doctor Sun was an interesting sort of fellow. Simple, straightforward. Certainly not the chatty type, just as Nick had foretold. One to get straight to down to business. Reed appreciated that. She’d picked up some radiation flushing tablets, probably more than she needed, and an emergency dose of Radaway to be on the safe side. It had been easy enough to administer before when she watched them hook her up back at the Prydwen. Just in case things got tricky again while they were out there, it would be nice to have the option.

Reed had taken a few moments to chat with the good doc about a few things. Life in the Commonwealth. The things he’d seen. Things to look out for. He’d seemed curious at first as to why all the questions. Enough time had passed so Gladen was willing to share that she was a Vault survivor and just looking to make it in this world. He’d softened a bit after that. Gave her some suggestions. Told her to come back and check with him in a couple weeks if she was in the area. Wished her well.

Not a bad guy after all.

The vertibird had arrived just slightly outside of Diamond City limits. If their pilot had had any qualms about giving a lift to a synth, he didn’t openly say anything. Most of the Brotherhood knew of Reed through reputation by now. Perhaps not the specific details, but they knew she was the right-hand Knight to Paladin Danse and that she was working closely with Elder Maxson with regards to gaining access to the Institute. It was likely safer to leave questions lie on silent lips.

Reed was just thankful for their supplies on board.

Her familiar T-60 Power Armor was strapped to the internal cargo wall. A smile touched her lips as she found herself feeling fondness for the piece of equipment. It had grown on her through the miles. It didn't have a name, like Righteous Authority, but it had its own personality in a way. She’d loaded it before she had left to meet with the Railroad, discussing the plan for pick-up at a later time with the handful of pilots that would be rotating through shifts approximately around the time she’d be radioing. Extra ammunition sat in the familiar green boxes on board as well. A clasped footlocker held her choice weapons for this mission.

“I can see why you’d want to side with these guys,” Nick said, speaking slightly louder over the wind. “They really load you up to the bolts with gear, huh?”

Reed chuckled and gave a nod. If one thing could be said for the Brotherhood, it was the staggering amount of power and equipment they had at their disposal.

It didn’t take terribly long to reach the drop-off point on their way to traversing the Glowing Sea. Their pilot swung the vertibird with a kind of practiced grace, hovering a moment before touching down without much of a jostle at all.

Quickly the two unloaded their small stash of gear. Most of it was for the Knight, seeing as she was human and most at-risk for facing the elements of the radioactive wasteland. However, Nick was glad when he was offered the chance to utilize a more powerful weapon from her arsenal.

_Nobody wanted to face off with radscorpions using just a pipe pistol._

With a T-60 suit of power armor, reclaiming Righteous Authority, tossing back some radiation-flushing chems and determining their best course of navigation, they were off to find Virgil. Thunder crackled in the distance. Green lightning was rippling through the ominous clouds that sat on the horizon as they crept closer and closer. It wouldn't be more than an hour or two and the storm would be on them. Then again, radstorms were so common in this region there was little doubt one, or perhaps even a couple, might pass over the duo as they pressed through the scorched wasteland.

The goal was to be in and out. They’d dodge the bigger hostiles. Take care of any feral ghouls that popped up between them and Virgil’s cave. Meet with the scientist. Get the intel they needed. Then they’d leave.

Unconsciously, the Knight checked her ammunition.

A pit of anxiety sat in her stomach.

She'd be taking point on this one.

* * *

He sat with his thoughts for a time.

T-60 Power Armor, donning the emblems of his title of Paladin amongst the Brotherhood, was beginning to show the slightest hints of its age. _How many years had it been?_ He’d lost count. They hadn’t mattered back then. Oh he could probably recall them if he tried, but that would be wading through past missions as well. Both the good and the bad. _No, it didn’t matter how many years.  
_

Brown eyes flecked with gold stared at the power-gloved hands in front of him, elbows resting on bent knees as he sat in the lull of quiet between missions.

It felt like things were somehow different now. Changing. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. An itch at the back of his mind that he did his best to ignore. A model soldier, he never questioned orders. Took steps in any way he could to ensure the success of each mission. Some had failed. Most had not. Those that did served as a hellish reminder of the responsibility he carried when taking point on any task.

Reasoning for coming to the Commonwealth had been clear enough. After events in the East, Super Mutants were still a very real threat to the future of mankind. The Commonwealth was a perfect place where they had established a firm stronghold, preying on settlements and the weak. Yet it had been his team to discover the energy readings that indicated advanced technology operating this far out into the region. _Preservation of technology._ That was the frontal key of the Brotherhood’s operations wherever they were posted. Understanding the past, so as not to repeat the future.

Yet now there were multiple challenges the Brotherhood would be facing. Feral ghouls. Super Mutants. Now the Institute.

He’d worked with Elder Maxson for many years. The youngest Elder to ever be appointed. Author was an impressive mind wrapped in the body of unyielding commitment to the cause. 

The Prydwen flying above the Commonwealth had given Paladin Danse a blazing sense of pride, knowing that Elder Maxson had seen the true plight of those here and was determined to resolve it. _That's what he had signed up for all those years ago._

Still, part of their recent tactics gave Danse pause. The change of their mission. Their focus so heavily falling to that of the Institute instead of fighting the hostiles they could clearly see. Understandably so. That amount of technology in the wrong hands was a terrifying concept. It was even more troubling that these people were such an unknown in the game above ground.

The Paladin inhaled deeply and exhaled with a huff.

Never before had he truly questioned their purpose here. And yet, from an analytical and even strategic standpoint, some things just didn’t make sense. Didn’t add up. 

Other matters troubled the Paladin as well. About the next step of their appointed mission to investigate more about the Institute. About what had happened in dealing with the Courser, how challenging it had been. Then there had been the female synth escapee.

He swept a hand back through his black hair.

They hadn’t been able to find her when the squad returned to capture and investigate the creation. Either someone had let her out, or she had somehow managed to escape on her own.

Seems the Institute was able to keep most of its secrets. _For now._

A radstorm growled furthest away on the horizon. If it got bad or too close, he’d put on his helmet. For the moment, the breeze felt nice. Even if it did contain a mild amount of radiation.

Paladin Danse waited patiently at the pick-up location for Knight Reed and Nick Valentine to return, eyes watching the yellow haze in the distance where the world changed to something else. He was eager to know what the latest intel was.

And to ensure that it had been the right call in trusting Nick to look after Reed in his stead.


	6. Throwing the Switch

A huff that resembled a growl was uttered under her breath, brow beaded with sweat, dirt and grim up to her elbows as she tried to turn the wrench.

Proctor Ingram had been able to decipher and decode the cryptic schematics that Virgil had outlined for them with ease. All the details contained within were from what he could remember of the relay inside the Institute. It was fortunate that there were two geniuses on their side. To most, the instructions appeared to be mostly gibberish with some drawings here and there with regards to the more specific equations. Yet to Proctor Ingram, she’d been able to make sense of most of it. The rest she managed to surmise through her own experience, thankfully.

Still, there was no proof that this was going to work. This metal contraption sitting at the airport appeared impressive, and yet there were still reservations. Scraps were piled around as they worked on completing it. A few Scribes had helped with the more complex matters, such as the circuit boards and relay connections. Matters that were best left to those with experience.

Danse was out in the field gathering the few materials they lacked at the base of command.

Reed sighed.

Seems they were always seeing each other in passing these days. It had been delightful to see him waiting for them with the vertibird once they had returned from the Glowing Sea. He’d finished his mission, confirmed their location and hitched a ride with the pilot to the designated pick-up zone. He’d been curious as to what had happened, how everything went and where they stood with their intel. However, there was a way his features seemed to soften when he finally saw them. A lightness coming to his eyes.

Reed smiled to herself. _He’d been happy to see her._

The ride back to the Prydwen had been reassuring, pleasant even. However, once aboard, matters went back to the way they were. Professional when in a professional setting. They understood the need for it, but it made matters difficult sometimes. Perhaps because a lot was on her mind, and she could see the tightness in his features that spoke of matters on his mind as well. Part of her simply wanted to find a mission out on the road, spend some time with her senior officer, her companion, her lover, and ensure that everything was alright.

With a clang, her wrench slipped off the bolt and clattered to the ground anticlimactically.

Dirty hands rubbed her face with an exasperated sigh, creasing her features with more dirt and grime.

They’d been at this for hours. _When was the last time she’d even eaten something?_

Luckily, the platform for the relay was completed. A couple of the Knights had assisted in moving in large-scale generators in order to attempt to power this contraption while donning their Power armor. They made it look easy with the mechanical assistance. It was going to require a hefty chunk of energy to get this to full capacity, if Proctor Ingram’s calculations were correct. And they usually were. Reed was nearly finished with assembling the parts for the relay dish. _If she could actually hold onto her damn wrench._ And Danse would be returning with the military-grade circuitry from a nearby military outpost with some luck. Those would be installed in the upper portion of the relay platform and in the command console.

Overall, it looked like a terrifying, three-legged spider.

Knight Reed picked up the wrench after a moment, rolling her wrist slightly to ensure it had stopped throbbing after that last slip and turned her attention back to the bolts.

If all went well, if Danse returned with the magnets, if the Knights got the generators linked, and if Proctor Ingram finished programming in the codes for its operation, then tomorrow she would be attempting to gain access to the Institute using their newly built Molecular Relay.

Her lips pressed into a tight line as she finally managed to tighten the stubborn metallic bolt.

A tiny pit of anxiety gnawed at her stomach a bit.

They had no idea if this would work at all. What would happen if it did.

Proctor Teagan was readying the Knight’s supplies for entrance into the facility. A Power suit would not be ideal. And so he’d been modifying her equipment to increase protection at the very least.

If she got in, that was.

If the relay didn’t kill her on the spot.

Idly, she chewed her bottom lip.

_What she wouldn’t give for a hot bath right about now._

Danse had tried his best to express concern over sending one of their best through the experimental device without appearing too emotionally involved in the matter. However, Elder Maxson would hear nothing of it. Danse had bristled silently, holding his emotions well in check. _As best he could, anyway._

“If she is one of the best, then she should be the one we send,” Maxson had stated without hesitation.

Reed knew that Danse’s protest was over the unknown of what would happen when they threw the switch. It could work. It could also not work. _It could also kill her in the process._ She knew that. Danse knew that. Yet there was nothing that could be done to change how events would be forced to unfold.

Still, standing before that contraption earlier in the day had given her a reality check. If it worked, truly worked, then she would finally know what was inside the Institute.

She made no promises to Elder Maxson when he spoke with her about the mission after assembly had been completed. His interest was obtaining a scientist that was possibly aligned with the Institute. That piece of information was a red-flag to the soldier. _Why would they be looking to take on a scientist from an organization they were wanting to destroy?_ Were the scientists only enemies because of who they were currently aligned with? That if those scientists suddenly became of use, they were no longer considered the enemy? Was she not entering the Institute to find a way to destroy it? When did she become a recruiter for the Brotherhood?

Something sat uneasily with her. Suddenly, it felt like she was stuck in some giant game of chess.

_A pawn._

* * *

 

Danse sighed heavily as she rested her head on his chest. He, too, seemed lost in thought. Reed had skillfully snuck into his quarters aboard the Prydwen as they waited for dawn to arrive, for when they would throw the switch. Neither one had slept.

“I don’t want you to go,” he finally said after a time. It wasn’t a request. It was a statement. He understood that orders were orders. His expression was hardened. _Frustration, perhaps._ This was an order he couldn’t override.

“I have to,” she said softly, almost apologetically. It wasn’t that she lacked fear. There _was_ fear. Fear of dying from the relay. Fear of being caught on the other side. Killed on the other side. Death in general.

But she had to do this.

“What if you can’t make it out?” he pressed, again more of a statement than expecting an exact answer.

“I will find a way,” Reed said with complete confidence.

Danse’s brows lowered slightly as he stared at the ceiling. “You go in armed,” he said, tone firm. “You don’t go in without being able to fight your way out.”

The Knight smiled. _As if he had to make that order._ She’d kill every last one of them on the other side if she had to.

“Of course, sir,” she said, an arm draped over his chest. If she had to die tomorrow, she wanted to remember what it was like to be right where she was now.

With a heavy sigh, he pulled her closer within the embrace of his muscular arms. Despite his strength, his touch could be surprisingly tender and careful with her. The warmth of her skin against his brought him comfort in a way that he couldn’t find words for. It was a softer, milder kind of contentment that seemed to fill his chest and bring him a sense of ease when she was with him.

Briefly he wondered again if there was a way to keep her from risking her life in the morning. She’d be doing all of this without him. _He couldn’t protect her this time._

At first he wasn’t entirely sure what to say to the darkness, to the woman in his arms. Every thought imaginable was whirling through his mind at once.

“I… uh…” he gathered his thoughts for a moment. _There was no sense in denying it._ He sighed heavily as he rested his head against hers. “…. I care about you, Reed.”

He felt her press closer to him, her grip on him slightly stronger as if she were afraid to let him go. A piece of his heart twisted slightly, a kind of emotion that struck down to his core. He did care about Reed. More with each day they worked together. The idea of losing anyone under his command in battle was an uncomfortable concept to his mind. The idea of losing Reed, however… It ached him right to the bones. An ache so deep that no stimpak would have been able to remedy it if anything were to happen.

“I love you too, sir,” she said, the tone of her voice betraying the smile she had on her face. She understood the meaning behind his words even if he hadn’t spoken it exactly as that. _Ever the anomaly._ She always seemed to understand him in a way nobody else ever really had.

“Now you can’t go getting yourself killed,” he said after some time had passed, realizing that dawn was swiftly approaching. “I need you to come back.”

He could feel her embrace. Every inch of it. Every ounce of heat that came off her form. Hear each breath. Feel the soft tresses of her hair brushing against his arm. Briefly he wondered if they might be able to delay matters if they just stayed here.

“Affirmative, sir,” she said.

Her tone even seemed lighthearted, upbeat. Part of him wanted to be angry. _He was being serious_. But deep down, he knew she was trying to make this easier on him.

She always did everything in her own way.

Soft lips were pressed against his, then. A gentle touch. His arms came up to wrap around her back, the palms of his hands rough compared to the contrast of her smooth skin. When their lips parted, she embraced him once more.

“I’ll come back, I promise.”

* * *

“If you find out that she’s still alive, make contact with her and convince her to return to the Brotherhood of Steel,” Elder Maxson was saying as he stood before the Knight.

Massive blue and purple arcs of electricity crackled along the tesla coil at the top of the relay. Each spark announced its appearance with a distinct noise of snapping static and danger. It felt ominous in a way. That much power would been needed to run the relay, and with that came the very real danger of what would happen if their calculations were off.

Still, the Knight’s resolve was steady. For her own reasons. A part of her barely heard the Elder talking with further instructions.

“There’s a special project we’re working on, and it needs her attention,” he continued to speak.

Gladen spoke up then. “I want to know what to do if she refuses.”

There was no knowing what would happen when she entered the Institute, if she even made it that far. The idea of chasing down some scientist for a project continued to sit poorly with the soldier. Getting into the Institute wouldn’t be enough? She would have to somehow extract someone else from the Institute as well? _How the hell would she do that?_ Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the idea of this absurd level of expectation, she kept her focus on the Elder until he was done saying his part.

“Don’t do anything that would provoke a hostile response,” he went on to clarify. “If she refuses, you’re not to press the issue. Remember, infiltration of the Institute is our larger goal. Listen to me, Knight. I’m well aware that you’re risking your life going into the Institute blind. Just keep your mind on the mission, and don’t let anything they say sway you from your duty. Good luck.”

He snapped a fist to chest in salute.

Reed mirrored the gesture. “Ad victorium, Elder.”

Behind her she could feel the presense of her commanding officer. He’d escorted her down from the Prydwen and was overseeing this operation with Elder Maxson and Proctor Ingram. They’d said little that morning. Much of what had needed to be said was said during the evening they had spent together.

Her green eyes sought his briefly. With an authoritative expression, arms folded across his chest, he simply nodded at her. Confidently. Encouragingly. He had to believe that this would work. That everything would go exactly as planned. If there were emotions stirring within him, he did his best not let them show. It would help no one to share the turmoil that was crashing through his system as he watched events unfold before him.

“By the way, this little trip you’re taking is a heck of an opportunity to find out as much as we can about the Institute and what they’re up to,” Proctor Ingram was suddenly saying to Reed. _When had she walked over?_ “I put a clever little program on this holotape that’ll scan their network and download anything it finds. If you place it in any terminal down there, it’ll do the rest. Bring it back to me and I’ll see if I can make sense of whatever it found.”

Something pinged in the background with an upbeat sound.

“… Looks like we have a winner. RF wave capture complete,” Proctor Ingram announced as she hurried back over to the command console. Practiced fingers were typing away at the terminal located within. _How she read the data that it was spitting back at her was anybody’s guess._

Tingling nerves were creeping through Reed’s system as a sense of anxiety and nervousness set it. _It was time._ Dutifully, the Knight walked over and positioned herself upon the platform. Above her were massive arcs of electricity that practically fizzled through the air around her. Each pop and crackle could practically be felt along the skin. It did not lower her sense of anxiety.

“Ramping the emitter. Sixty percent…”

Paladin Danse was watching intently now with arms by his side instead of crossed over his chest. Brows were furrowed slightly as he took in the scene before him. Watched as his recruit, his best Knight, companion, and now lover, stood at the center of a device that would soon be thrown into action. A device that couldn’t be tested prior to initializing. It was their one chance to try this route for getting into the Institute. What they’d been working towards all these months. _It shouldn’t be her standing on that platform._ They’d worked too hard for it to end this way. Yet they had refused to let him take her place. Too valuable, they’d said. His gaze hardened. _But Reed was valuable to him…_

“Eighty percent…” their mechanical scientist was shouting. “Emitter’s spiking, but steady. All that’s left is to throw the transmit switch.”

“Ad victorium, sir,” Reed said as she fixed her gaze on her senior officer. Part of her was glad to see him in his T-60. It was how she often remembered Danse whenever he came to mind. _Handsome as always._

“Ad victorium, recruit,” Danse responded with a salute. It was only his eyes that betrayed the unspoken words below. _Come back to me, Reed._

She smiled. _I will, sir._

“Transmitting in three… Two… One. Stay safe, soldier!”

Light erupted all around her as the switch was thrown.

Blue. White.

Blinding light.

Suddenly the world disappeared.

Everything disappeared.

She didn’t hear herself scream.


	7. Inside

Weightlessness.

It felt like there was no body.

_Did she even have a body?_

Yes, somewhere she did.

Maybe it was just left somewhere.

This wasn’t what death was, was it?

Maybe she’d died.

_Shit._

_No, no…_ There was a body. She could feel something.

Gravity.

Everything was getting heavy again.

White gave way to color so abruptly that it was staggering.

Objects. Shapes. Colors. They exploded around her with such a sudden sense reality that it felt nauseating.

A floor appeared beneath her feet on which she landed. Staggering, she fell to all fours.

A ringing in her ears was beginning to fade.

She fought the urge to be sick.

It took several moments to get her bearings and stop the world from spinning.

Coughing, she roused herself to her feet.

Blinking, she looked around.

Everything came back to her slowly.

The relay. _Had the relay really worked?_ Where was she now? Was this actually the Institute?

A doorway opened just before her with the promise of a well-lit room just on the other side. Nobody appeared to be around. At least, from what she could see. Cautiously she unshouldered Righteous Authority and hefted it into a defensive position as she scanned the room with the rifle pressed readily at her shoulder.

There was absolutely no way of knowing what would happen now.

A voice boomed over an intercom above.

“Hello.”

Reed startled just slightly as she scanned the room. It was a male voice.

“I wondered if you might make it here,” it said. “You’re quite resourceful.”

After a moments hesitation, she pressed forward into the room. Blank walls, no people, electronics and operating technology hummed all around. A hallway stretched out. Its walls were white, well illuminated.

She continued forward.

“I am known as Father; the Institute is under my guidance,” the voice continued on.

_Perfect. Then you’re the one I need to talk to,_ she thought to herself.

“I know why you’re here. I’d like to discuss things with you, face-to-face. Please, step into the elevator.”

Her footsteps stopped. _Did they really know why she was here, or was this all some ploy?_

Stairs lead down as she reached the end of the hallway. She could see the elevator of which he spoke. A moment, she hesitated.

If this were all just a ploy or clever trap, then there would be slim chance she would be able to fight her way out of it. This was their facility. There was no doubt that she would have the greatest disadvantage. Even now, armed as she was, a single Courser would be enough to likely take her down.

Gladen stared at the elevator questioningly.

With acceptance, she stepped inside.

If they would kill her, then they would kill her. But at least she’d made it. At least back at the Prydwen, they knew it had somehow worked. That she hadn’t ended up a gooey mess of body parts on the platform of the Molecular Relay. That was something, at least. If she died here, then… then Danse wouldn’t have to see it. Would that be better…?

Perhaps if she died, Danse would find Virgil and try something else. Maybe take down another Courser. Maybe next time, they’d be able to simply transport a nuke instead. Would that even solve anything in the Commonwealth, though?

The doors to the elevator closed around her.

Slowly the elevator began to move. It dropped down.

_Well, she’d find out what was going to happen next soon enough._

Idly, she checked to make sure her rifle’s magazine was properly in place.

* * *

“I can only imagine what you’ve heard, what you think of us. I’d like to show you that you may have… the wrong impression.”

Reed was listening intently. However, her personal opinion of matters were not so easily swayed or dismissed by mere words.

“Welcome to the Institute.”

As the elevator continued its descent, the clear windows around her opened up to reveal an incredible scene that expanded before her. An illuminated, clean, maintained facility. It looked nearly futuristic. It reminded her of some buildings she had seen before the war in the way it was structured, constructed and laid out so elegantly. Levels and levels of rooms, walkways going this way and that. There were even trees here, untwisted and unwarped from radiation. Perfectly preserved and happy here.

And there were people. Nearly all of them wore some type of labcoat or uniform. She could see them chatting amongst themselves or hurrying off along the walkways as she slowly continued by in the elevator tube. Nobody seemed to notice her. If they did, they didn’t pay her much mind.

“This is the reality of the Institute. This place, these people, the work we do,” the voice was continuing to say. “For over a hundred years, we’ve dedicated ourselves to humanity’s survival.”

Reed bristled slightly, but kept silent.

“Decades of research, countless experiments and trails… A shared vision of how science can help shape the future. It has never been easy, and our actions are often misinterpreted by those above ground.”

_No shit._

“Someday, perhaps, we can show them what we’ve accomplished. But for now, we must remain underground.”

Reed’s patience was growing short. Only her curiosity, and desire for answers, kept her from acting foolishly.

Softly the elevator came to a stop. Its radial doors twisted open with a sigh as another hallway was revealed before her. The Brotherhood soldier moved forward without hesitation this time. If they’d wanted to kill her, they could have by now.

“There’s too much at stake to here to risk it all. As you’ve seen, things above are… unstable. I’d like to talk to you about what we can do… for everyone. But that can wait. You are here for a specific, very personal reason. You are here for your son.”

A hardened expression overcame her features as she navigated the bare hallway. Another elevator opened up before her. Suddenly she felt like some mouse in a lab. _Ironic._ Still, she stepped in. A rushing sensation told her that they were going upwards. It reminded her briefly of the feeling she often had when they would take off in their vertibirds.

Each door parted to reveal yet another room. A terminal took up the majority of a wall to her left, lights illuminated and blinking in random intervals. Before her was an enclosed room, its walls nothing but glass and a door.

A child was playing within.

It was a boy.

Brown hair. Not an infant, not a toddler, but a young boy.

It was the Shaun she had seen in the memories of Kellogg.

Emotion welled within her chest despite her logic telling her to be cautious.

“… Shaun?” she gasped as she approached the glass. A lump caught in her throat.

Curiously, the boy looked up. “Huh? Yes… I’m Shaun…”

“Shaun? Oh my god, it’s really you…” she could feel the stinging of tears in her eyes.

“Who… who are you?”

Of course he wouldn’t recognize her. “Shaun it’s… it’s me. I’m your mom.”

A sense of panic overcame the young boy as he stepped away from the glass. He began to look around frantically.

“Father… What’s going on? What’s happening?”

As much as she tried to reassure the child, perhaps even reassure herself through the sudden reality, It was no use. The more Gladen pressed, the more agitated the child became. A hopeless sensation rolled over the woman as she stared at the child yelling behind the glass. _So close, but…_

A door slide open just off to the right of the enclosed portion of the room, and through it stepped an older gentleman. Grey hair, grey beard. He wore a labcoat not unlike those she had seen wearing throughout the Institute during her time in the elevator.

“Shaun… S9-23 Recall Code Cirrus,” he spoke in an authoritative fashion. It was the same voice that had been speaking to her over the intercom.

This was, apparently, _Father._

Shaun slumped and became still at the words.

“A synth,” Reed muttered bitterly under her breath. She was, indeed, a mouse in a lab. Being analyzed. Being studied. A finger briefly touched the trigger guard of her laser rifle as she resisted the temptation to act irrationally at the insult they had offered her. Toying with her and her emotions at the expense of a child. Her child.

_Those fuckers._

“Fascinating… but disappointing. The child’s responses were not at all what I anticipated,” Father went on to say as he looked on with a thoughtful expression. He gestured almost dismissively, “He’s a prototype, you understand. We’re only just now beginning to explore the effects of extreme emotional stimuli.”

_Would they throw prototype Shaun away like they had Nick when it was no longer of use?_ Mistrust must have read across her features as she stared at the grey-haired man before her.

“Please try and keep an open mind. I recognize that you are emotional, and that your journey here has been fraught with challenges. Let’s start anew. I am Father. Welcome to the Institute.”

“Where is the real Shaun?” she asked. At first, she thought perhaps it would come out as an emotion-filled scream. That the feelings behind her words would come out with such ferocity that they would have no choice but to answer her question. Instead, the words were surprisingly level-headed. Surprisingly calm. Quiet.

Father seemed to lift a brow in curiosity. Perhaps her reaction was not what he had been anticipating either. “I know. You’ve gone to such lengths to find him.”

“I’ll make this very simple. Where is my son?” Reed said with exaggerated annunciation.

“He’s here, in the Institute. Closer than you think,” the man in grey responded. Gladen had an ear and mind for the cryptic. Already her mind was working to understand what may be going on. _No…_ “But… I need you to realize that this… situation… is far more complicated than you could have imagined. You have traveled very far, and suffered a great deal, to find your son. Well, your tenacity and dedication have been rewarded.”

_It was never as easy as it seemed._

“It’s good to finally meet you, after all this time. It’s me. I am Shaun,” he said as he touched a hand to his chest. “I am… your son.”

Reed lowered her weapon. The pieces all fit. Before they had all been but floating pieces in a concept of an explanation, never quite coming close enough to create a whole picture of the reality. A key factor was always missing.

“More time… More time had actually passed after you were taken, after I was put back into cryosleep….” she said out loud as she began to see. “The boy, with Kellogg… his memories… That was a synth as well, wasn’t it?”

Shaun seemed surprised. “Yes… it was.” _Perhaps they had not given her enough credit after all._

Reed had known it was a possibility. Known it was possible that it had been many years since Shaun had been taken from them. To see it now before her, to realize that it was the truth of the situation. Emotions rolled through her like a radstorm, raging and growing still as her mind wrapped around what this truly meant.

“How many years have passed?” she asked simply as she met the familiar eyes of the grown man standing before her.

“Sixty,” he responded evenly. “Sixty years. That is the reality.”

Sixty.

She’d slept for another sixty years in that tube, locked away in some Vault.

It felt as if part of her world really had died all those years after all.

* * *

The two spent a great deal of time talking after that point.

Shaun was highly intelligent, well-brought up and now currently leader of the very Institute that had been creating so many stories of fear across the Commonwealth above. Yet he, standing before her, did not seem so openly sinister as most would have been lead to believe. Then again, neither had the leaders of their nation seemed openly sinister when they brought the world to its knees in the name of principle, ego, status and greed.

Below, in the Institute, was a world of scientists and technology. Of experiments and attempting to perfect the human form.

Reed listened attentively and was greeted with surprisingly honest answers in return.

However, as time went on, she began to understand perhaps the shortcoming of such an advanced individualized civilization. Began to understand the threat that it secretly held. How it came to have such a reputation on the surface. Those that worked below couldn’t understand why the surface-dwellers thought so negatively of them. _Of course the scientists wouldn’t understand._ Those that played god could never see how others might view their work. So focused they may have become with what was possible that they were forgetting if what they were doing was truly the right thing.

It was a hunch, a gut feeling. Something wasn’t quite right.

Danse had always told her to trust her instincts when it came to analyzing a situation.

Even though he said the right things, it did not negate the fact that they had kidnapped people from the surface. For experiments and trials, no less. _Because who would miss a surface dweller, right?_ That they had replaced people with synths to see whether it could integrate into society without notice. That they discarded prototypes that were no longer of use, like Nick.

Then there was the fact that they had kidnapped her son and killed her husband, of course. _In the name of science, though, so that made it okay…?_

“You want me to stay here… in the Institute?” Reed said as she cast a look at the man before her.

In truth, he may be her son by blood, but she had nothing to do with his upbringing. She didn’t know him. She’d had no influence in who he had become. What had occurred in his past to create the man before her today. In her mind, he was just a man named Shaun. He may have been her son at one point, but now… Now he was someone else’s son.

“Yes, that is what I propose. Is it so hard to imagine?”

It was.

Perhaps the year above ground had made her bitter. Shed light on matters in a way that Shaun couldn’t possibly understand. It was one thing to analyze the state of the surface from a scientific perspective. To review the data, watch from an outsider’s point of view. But to live it, to breathe it, to watch the people dying on the surface, to see them struggle against the elements above… How could they hide underground and yet claim to be doing the best for humanity…?

“I don’t know…” Reed said, feeling unsure about her next move. Danse was always so good at determining a course of action. _What would he do?_

“Okay, I’ll give it a chance,” she said with some reservation.

Shaun smiled. He did have a kind smile. “That is all I ask. The Institute can be your home as much as it is mine. Please, take some time and get to know it. Meet the people you’ll be working with. You’ll want to introduce yourself to the Division Heads… Doctor Fillmore in Facilities, Doctor Ayo in the SRB… ah, Doctor Holdren in BioScience… And finally, Doctor Li in Advanced Systems. They’ve all been notified of your arrival, of course. Meet them, and then we’ll discuss what comes next.”

_Intel_. That’s what Danse would want to gather.

Reed nodded with a soft exhalation of air. Still, Shaun had said she could decide for herself. Decide whether to stay, or whether to return to the surface.

She knew her answer.


	8. Answers

Validation for the apprehensive feelings in her gut came as she stared at the floating specimens before her that were held in the condemned FEV lab in the BioScience Division. _Doctor Li had been right._ Something horrible had gone down here and it had been swept under the rug, kept away from the other scientists to hide the truth.

Virgil’s holotape played quietly on her Pip-Boy as she stared at the floating Super Mutant specimens within the cylindrical glass holding tubes. A form of suspended animation. Not unlike the cryopod she herself had occupied all those years. Only these did not freeze their specimens, but held them in a state not unlike that of an infant in the womb. The only difference was… these specimens were now deceased.

Virgil’s human voice sounded much different from when they had last met.

_“Personal record. Doctor Brian Virgil. This will likely be my last recording. My requests to shut down the FEV program have repeatedly been denied. We’ve learned nothing useful in the last ten years! Why does Father insist on continuing it? If he won’t see reason, then I have to take matters into my own hands… What we’re doing… It’s not right. It needs to stop. If anyone should find this after… after I’m gone, know that I never wanted to hurt anyone. Anyone! Do you understand me? I’m going to make sure the whole program is shut down. If not for good then… at least for years to come….”_

Reed stared at the hulking figures in tubes before her. Analysis of a nearby terminal had detailed some of the experiments within the FEV program and its outcome. All test subjects were dead. Some had died earlier than others. If this was ‘saving humanity’ _,_ then the Knight wanted no part of the Institute.

 _“… I know what I’m about to do will be seen as a betrayal. Treason, he’ll probably call it. So, I’m leaving. I have a plan. And if it works, I’ll be somewhere safe. Somewhere not even the Coursers can find me. Everything that we’ve done, the lives we’ve taken… if there is a God, may he have mercy on us all._ ”

It seems that Virgil had been successful in his dismantling of the BioScience FEV division. The wing had been sealed after an apparent explosion. Turrets installed. Laser traps. It had been quite a mess to get this deep into the sub-sections of the Institute. It was the kind of challenge that Reed excelled at. It was clear why it had been hidden away now.

She’d seen the testing rooms along the way where some of the experiments had taken place. She was looking at a few specimens before her.

It made no sense.

Scientists were simply studying their theories. Creating monsters instead of trying to eliminate them.

Grimly, she stuffed the experimental serum that Virgil had created into her supply bag and zipped it up securely _. This wasn’t saving humanity_. One last glance was cast towards the specimens before her. A deep-seeded anger briefly rolled within her, hands tightening into fists as she walked. Abruptly she turned and stormed from the lab.

Reed hoped it would take some time to return back to the Advanced Systems division before she would have to speak with Doctor Li again, or before she ended up running into anyone really. It would take her some time to find her calm after all that. To hide her feelings behind a mask as she spoke to them. To not shoot the first person who gave her reason to.

The idea of blowing this place up still held some promise.

* * *

Water flowed to the central platform of the building. A giant kind of fountain that fed the trees growing around this section of the facility through a method of hydroponics. A calm, peaceful place amidst the metal and enamel that covered the walls and floors of the facility.

Had any of them ever been to the surface? Seen the trees there? The water that flowed, toxic and filled with radiation up above? _Doubtful._ She wondered if they even really cared what was actually happening above despite their declarations that they were trying to save humanity.

Knight Reed had found the majority of her calm as she sat on the unrusted, undented, unmangled, pristinely maintained bench for nearly an hour. It had taken some time for her to sooth her thoughts after exiting the FEV division and speaking with Doctor Li. Still, things had worked out well with the scientist. A brilliant mind. There was a chance she might rejoin the Brotherhood. It helped, in a strange way, to see that Reed wasn’t the only one being manipulated by the Institute. Lied to.

The sound of running water was pleasant. It was nostalgic to see trees again as well. All the plants growing uninhibited in the BioScience division. There was truly some prospect for aiding humanity within these walls. Whether anything would actually see the light of day, however…

A Gen3 synth was maintaining the area nearby. She’d been watching him from the corner of her eye for a while now.

Scientists here referred to them as its, things. Machines. _Property._ Spoke to them only when giving commands. _Did they know how Nick was doing above ground?_ How he was more human than some people she had met? How any of their synths were operating above ground? The ones that had escaped? The female that the Courser had been chasing? She had appeared normal enough. Spoke normally. Acted like any human she had met. Emotions. Body language. It was eerily human.

It was why she watched this synth now. Not obviously, but with her peripherals.

Synths down here acted… differently than they did above. Dutifully. Without question. Emotion was lacking from their words. Their movements seemed scripted. They acted, well, like machines.

“Do you like it here?” she asked as she stared at the water in front of her. Nobody appeared to be in the immediate vicinity. The synth was close enough that she did not have to speak loudly.

It didn’t pause in its duties.

“Is there anything I can assist you with?” came the familiar response.

Reed sighed. This place appeared to be the perfect at first glance. Even at a second glance. It appeared to be what anyone would dream of escaping to. A world away from the monsters, the radiation, the hunger, the fear. So why was she so eager to leave? She leaned back against the bench, netting her fingers together behind her head as she took a moment to think. It was a disconnected place. A strange type of reality.

“It looks beautiful here,” she commented further. “But, looks can often be deceiving.”

Again, the synth didn’t so much as stray from its maintenance of the grounds.

“Do you ever wonder what it’s like on the surface?”

For the briefest of moments, the male synth fell out of rhythm with its movements.

Reed smiled to herself, then stretched and rubbed her face briefly. “I know you guys aren’t just machines. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” she promised, still talking to the open air in front of her rather than appearing to chat directly with the synth. “It’s not like here. It’s hard. But, it also has good, in its own way. They aren’t like people down here. Some are cruel. Some are kind. The trick is to find the good ones. They’ll help people along the way.”

_Like Nick had._

“There are good people up there. People like Des. You’d like her. She helps synths. It’s not easy to find them, the Railroad, I mean. It’s worth it though, in the end.” She paused for a time. “What’s your designation?” she asked as she finally turned to look at him.

“My designation is T4-62,” he responded without looking up.

“Nice to meet you, T4. Hopefully we’ll see each other again sometime,” she said genuinely, kindly. “It was nice talking to you. I'm afraid I can't stay here any longer.”

It was time to go, she’d decided. Too long she’d been here. Already it felt claustrophobic, to know that they were underground and completely locked away from the rest of the world. Somehow it felt wrong for it to be as bright as it was down here. To be so clean. To be so seemingly perfect.

It felt wrong that it should look so right when everything above them, the world, was still in such a wrong way.

She would need to speak with Shaun again before she left. The very idea brought only feelings of trepidation and uncertainty as she made her way across the polished floor to his quarters. At the moment, she wasn’t sure what they would talk about when she got there. No doubt they would find something to discuss. How it would conclude was anybody’s guess. But, she would have to go. It wasn’t right for her to be here. It wasn’t right that she felt like she wanted to destroy this beautiful place because of what she knew deep down.

She scarcely noticed as T4 looked up to watch her leave.

* * *

“I don’t belong here, Shaun.”

It was a tense moment between the two, softened only by a strange sympathy that both of them seemed to share. Shaun was still donning his white lab coat while sitting comfortably within his quarters. He seemed slightly taken aback by her answer to his invitation. It clearly made no sense to him as to why she would want to leave so quickly.

“Do you not like it here?” he pressed, opening his hands in an attempt to come across genuinely curious.

Reed sifted through the thoughts in her mind. All the thoughts currently threatening to cross her lips as she stared at the blue eyes of the man before her. Both her son and a stranger. The feelings it brought up sat uneasily within her.

She wanted to ask him why they continued to hide below ground, growing food, purifying water, hiding away from helping the people that scraped at the earth above in attempt to live each day. To ask why their research required human trials. To ask how that helped anybody but their own gains and theories. To ask about the FEV project. To ask why they had created Super Mutants in a lab for ten years. To ask why they had covered up Virgil’s actions against them and lied to the rest of the scientists. To ask why they wanted to create synths, bio-engineered synths with the traits of humans, with the modified DNA of a human, for the betterment of humankind? To ask how that helped human kind at all? To ask what the point of this all was?

But, she knew the answer to all of those. Deep down, she knew.

It wasn’t the betterment of all humankind.

It was for the betterment of humankind _below ground_. The only humankind that mattered to them.

The rest of the world was… collateral damage.

“I don’t believe my place is among you,” she said simply. “I may be your mother by blood, but I am not anything more than a stranger within these walls. Nothing feels like home to me anymore, Shaun. But, this place… It’s not for me. I don’t belong here. This isn’t my home. It may be yours, but I can’t stay here to live out the rest of my days within these walls. I hope you can understand that.”

Heavily, the man in front of her sighed. He seemed to show his age then. He seemed tired.

“I don’t think I can understand, truly, why you would want to go back out there,” he said with some reservation. “But, if that is what you wish, then I am in no position to stop you.”

“What about the Courser chip that Doctor Li installed in my Pip-Boy? Would you like that returned?” she asked.

Shaun shook his head slightly, “No. Keep it for now. If you ever change your mind, then you will be able to find us, me, here.”

Gladen stared at the man that was her son. _Sixty years._ There was so much to say, to discuss. And yet, there was also nothing to be said. Time was lost to the world that was. Lost to the Vault. Lost to the Institute. It seemed that Shaun was alive. Safe, all those years, within these walls.

What he had become, the truth of what was going on… She couldn’t attribute that to her son. It was the Institute that had done him wrong, in the end. Turned him into what he was now. There was nothing left for them to share between them. No motherly bond. No memories to create. All of that had truly died long ago.

With a heavy heart, she simply said, “I’m sorry. Goodbye, Shaun.” It felt like heartbreak.

His eyes were still kind. Sad. “Goodbye, mother.”

* * *

Lightning crackled around her as the world once again turned a fiery white and blue. Gravity fell away. All sensation disappeared for moments that seemed like hours. With a rush, it all came flooding back into clariyy. The world. The weight of a form. Memories.

Under the weight of everything, she slumped heavily to the steps of the C.I.T. building. Righteous Authority clattered to the ground as her grip on it failed. Nobody was around as the broken world spread out before her. A haze touched the sky that couldn’t be shaken even by the winds.

Knight Reed, a legendary force of her own within the rumors of the Brotherhood, had found a way into the Institute against all odds. A Vault dweller, lost to time, an anomaly in this world. Survived countless encounters. Found the clues amidst the rubble of the fallen world. And it had, in the end, lead her to her son.

Her shoulders rocked as she collapsed into tears on the crumbling steps of the building. Instinctively, she pulled her knees to her chest, resting her forehead upon them as she cried.

She’d found her answers after all.


	9. Back to Reality

Buildings and landscape rushed beneath her as the wind rolled briskly over the exposed skin of her face and hands. It wasn’t cold nor hot as the sun began its descent towards the horizon. A golden hue took over the world as far as the eye could see, a world of daylight transitioning into an assortment of shadows and darkness. A firm grip held onto the railing as she stared unfocused into the distance. It felt both reassuring to be back aboard the vertibird, back amongst familiarity. At least, the only familiarity she really had nowadays.

Thoughts went over again and again the various topics she’d faced, discussed and been made aware of during her time within the Institute. A shadow crossed her features as her mind recalled in great detail some of the more important factors that had been made clear. A part of her had already begun to create a rift of disassociation with the seemingly patriarchal society below ground. Sure, there would always be the knowledge that its leader was her son. There would always be the reminder of that. An emotional tie that, though severed and torn all those years ago, would always been slightly there. Even if it was not enough to sway a motherly response.

She blinked as her green eyes wandered across the horizon.

It felt more like intel than a bond. A piece of knowledge that simply created an image of part of the world. To know it was her son was valuable. To have closure was healing in its heartbreak. To have the ability to know, to see it, and to use that to move on with what must be done next.

Part of her even wondered whether to mention the detail to Elder Maxson during her report.

_No._

The answer from within told her to keep such matters to herself. For now. Least it cast her opinion into that of doubt. Least it sully her reputation above ground. It would benefit nobody to have that knowledge right now, save for using it to cast suspicion on her if the need ever warranted. If it ever came to surface, she would address it then. For now, it was non-vital intel. There were other matters that required addressing first and foremost.

She was eager to make her report to Elder Maxson.

To deliver the details of the holotape to Proctor Quinlinn for analysis. _Perhaps they would confirm some of her suspicions._

But most of all, she knew Danse would be glad that she was indeed still alive.

* * *

It took little time to go over details with the Elder.

A straightforward man. Prompt. To the point. He was thankful that matters had worked out well for them in their advancement towards eliminating the threat of the Institute. However, the way he spoke about them somehow had begun to rub Knight Reed the wrong way. _Yes, the Institute posed a great threat, but they were not inherently evil._ Not maniacal monsters bent on destroying all human life.

Still, she kept silent. As far as they were concerned, she was but a pawn in the game of the Commonwealth.

_Let them think that I am a fool._

“Report to Proctor Ingram for your next assignment, Knight,” he’d said, dark eyes turning to look out the window of the bridge. To survey the world before him as his mind worked. No doubt imagining the many ways in which they might bring down his targeted foe. “She requires field-work and the ascertainment of a specific type of supply. Meet with her for details down at the airport.”

“Yes, sir,” the Knight had said with a nod and salute to the chest. _Field work._ That would be a welcome mental break from what they had been working on recently.

It was not her imagination that people aboard the Prydwen were watching her as she walked by. There were no secrets here. Many had even assisted in the assembly of the Molecular Relay below. It was not until their comrade had returned did anyone truly know if it had gone according to plan. If she had even made it into the Institute. _They would know soon enough._ Elder Maxson enjoyed relaying their victories in the way of meaningful and inspiring speeches. For some reason, Reed hoped she wouldn’t have to be present for the next one about the Institute.

“Where is Paladin Danse?” she turned to ask the Knight who was currently stationed to guard Elder Maxson when on the bridge.

A T-60 Power Armored helmet regarded her in return, “He is below deck.”

Reed nodded thankfully.

Part of her hesitated for some reason. Being aboard the Prydwen felt better, more like home, than had standing within the clean and brightly lit walls of the Institute. Still, even here, she was forced to wear a mask of sorts. They both were. The Vault dweller wanted nothing more than to feel his arms around her. To be able to tell him the troubles that were on her mind. He would understand more than Elder Maxson. He would see why it had been such a taxing experience for her.

Yet, that would have to wait. They would have to be professional.

With a deep breath, Knight Reed descended to the lower deck of the Prydwen.

Even if they could not touch, could not embrace, it would still be heartwarming to see the Paladin again.

* * *

Metallic footsteps could be heard all over the mighty airship as the various recruits and Knights went about their duties. Deep thrumming of an engine somehow could be felt through the walls and even slightly in ones chest. It smelled of grease, of equipment operating within, of food, of soldiers. The Prydwen had its own identity within the Commonwealth. Its own community. A very feeling all its own when someone stepped aboard.

It wasn’t home, no. But it was a kind of home.

Casually Reed glanced about. A few looks were cast her way. Some curious. Others surprised. News would travel quickly of her apparently safe return the longer she was on board.

A particularly intent recruit watched her with great interest. She took it as an opportunity.

“Where is Paladin Danse?” she asked, tone authoritatively that of a Knight.

Without speaking, the recruit simply pointed down the hall towards the mechanics bay. Reed nodded a thanks.

It didn’t take long to find the familiar figure amongst the rest.

Danse was working diligently on a set of T-60 Power Armor that was stationed within Bay 3. It was in a state of half-assembly. Internal components lay strewn about in an orderly fashion. Plating had been removed and sat propped against the back wall of the station bay. It always seemed so strange to see a set of Power Armor without its external components. A skeleton of a creation. It appeared, well, naked. Vulnerable.

He wore simple BOS issued fatigues as he worked. Calloused hands appeared to have been at it for a length of time as they showed several layers of dirt and grease from keeping busy. It was no hidden fact that the Paladin did best when tasked with a job to complete, even if that task was something as simple as mechanical maintenance. Never one to sit and be idle. It was why he was so suited to life within the field. Recon work. Missions of varying complexity. Combine with his physical strength, mental aptitude and a desire to complete a task to its fullest… There was no wonder why he was one of the best.

Knight Reed waited for a time as she watched him work, her mind somewhat wandering. It was like just knowing he was around, realizing that nothing here had truly changed, was already beginning to return a sense of ease to her internal chaos. Bring her back to the person she was here and now, in this world. It was clear that he hadn’t yet noticed her, back turned to her direction and hands busy with the parts he was currently working on.

Danse sat back on his heels and ran a hand back through his black hair in thought as he stared at a stubborn component. Obviously planning his next step in whatever project he had undertaken when it came to dismantling and servicing this particular piece of equipment. With the strewn about pieces, it was fair to say that he was being exceptionally thorough in the task.

“Are you sure you’re certified to be tasked with such a project, sir?”

It was a familiar voice. Familiar tone. Female. Warm. _Kind._ The kind of voice that made his heart skip as the words caught him. It was as if the world around him, the T-60 on which he was working, everything disappeared in front of him in that moment. He hadn’t slept. Instead he’d kept himself busy in the meantime, throwing himself into tasks and duties to keep him from staring at the ceiling of his quarters.

For half a breath he was almost unable to will himself to turn. To look. To confirm what he suspected. Worried that it would be his mind playing tricks on him. That a different female would be standing there, his ears having fooled him. _But it must be…_ Brown eyes swept the room as he turned quickly to look behind him. A gold-flecked gaze found the source of the voice. Settled on the familiar figure there. Green eyes. Copper-red hair that brushed well past her shoulders. Kind eyes. A soft smile. The lips he’d kissed more times than he could count.

“Reed…?” he breathed in surprise.

Relief flooded his senses. As if he’d been holding his breath this whole time. Waiting. Torn between hoping for the best and holding himself wisely in check about the situation that had been upon his mind. After the relay had activated, there had been nothing left of the platform. No figure. No Reed. But, no body either. It had all disappeared. But, that had not meant success. It simply meant she had not died then and there.

A tool tumbled from his hand and clattered to the floor with disinterest.

It took him only two strides to walk to her. He scarcely recalled giving the order to his feet.

Without hesitation, he pulled her to him in a tight embrace.

To feel her whole against him. To feel warmth there. Feel her breath. To know she was truly real, truly back. Safe. _She was safe._

It wasn’t professional.

_To hell with professional._

“Are you alright?” he asked as he released his grip on her, brown eyes seeking hers intently.

A ragged breath came from her smaller form as she inhaled. The embrace had been unexpected. Wanted, craved, but unexpected. It caught her, and her emotions, off-guard. How she’d needed it and didn’t even realize.

“Reed?”

The Knight cleared her throat slightly, a small amount of emotion caught there. _It felt so right to be back here._

“I got inside. Inside the Institute.”

He knew. He knew about her. Her endeavour. Her hunt for the truth. About the Vault. About her life before it. About her reason for wanting to go in the first place. They hadn’t much discussed it. Not really. Not in any depth or with great detail. Nobody really talked about the past anymore. Not when a person’s past was something they were trying to leave behind.

“What happened?” he asked. It wasn’t a Paladin that spoke to her now. It wasn’t her senior officer looking for intel. The eyes were soft that sought hers. The gaze asking if she was alright.

With clarity it all came back. Everything. Their justifications for the Institute’s cause. The cruelty of the FEV lab. The Coursers. The kidnappings. It played through her mind as the sadness for it all slipped from her veins only to be replaced with a purpose.

She’d lost a son in all of this.

Her life.

_Everything._

And now the Institute was interfering with the lives of others. Digging themselves deeper underground. Justifying their actions. Like they justified taking Shaun. Like they justified all of their warped experiments.

_To hell with the Institute. If they wanted to run their experiments underground, so be it._

But they’d crossed a line in coming to the surface. Treating the people here like samples.

And that… that couldn’t go unchecked.

“A lot happened in there,” Reed said as she gathered her thoughts. Sought out the intel. “Suffice to say, they aren’t any better than we may have suspected. The kidnappings. The experiments. It’s all true. They didn’t kill me. And I have… a way in. A backup plan if we need it. But, they can’t keep operating in the Commonwealth. Not with their warped sense of what was right and what was wrong.

“Shit, Danse, they created synths to be their slaves. A form of ‘perfection’ created and bio-engineered! The ones we see on the surface… the ones who escaped. They’re not the ones we should be afraid of. Not the ones we should be trying to destroy. It’s everything. Everything the Institute does is solely for the benefit of those below ground. They’ve given up on us, Danse. Gave up on this world. And they’re warping their own world and views to be something unsettling.

“I don’t know what the answer is,” she admitted as she squeezed the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes tightly against the headache that had been lingering there. “Do we blow it up? Would that even help? Would they send Coursers? Are they trying to stay underground, or are they scared enough to try and face the Brotherhood? I couldn’t get everywhere. I don’t know what they have for weapons. I don’t know if they’d use it. Part of me feels like… like they would, if they had to. And there are some good people there. People that question it. People that truly believe what they’re doing is for the good of mankind.

“But then there are the ones that aren’t. The ones that think of anyone who lives on the surface as lesser humans. I just… I don’t know what the answer is, Danse. Do we destroy it all, if we have the chance, and kill the ones who mean us no harm? Or do we wait? Wait and see what happens now?”

When she finally looked up from her explanations, it was clear to see that the senior officer was attempting to make sense of what had been said. Brow furrowed in thought. Eyes slightly downcast as he seemed to be searching his mind for a pattern, a clue. Or perhaps just sorting the details into something that might formulate a better picture for him to look upon. He glanced up after a moment.

“I think,” he began in his familiar, cool, logical tone, “that we decipher whatever it was you were able to bring back on that holotape for Proctor Ingram. There may be a clue in there. Weapons details. Fallback procedures. Until we know what is on that tape, we don’t have to make a choice yet. Not right away, anyway. We take our time, go over the details we know and determine an appropriate course of action.”

He squeezed her shoulders reassuringly. His gaze was intense, unquestioning.

“You have already done, accomplished, more in this task than anybody imagined we’d be able to achieve,” he said in full honesty. _Proud._ He shook his head slightly, although his eyes never drifted. “What you did was… It was against the odds. You not only survived but you came back. Came back alive.” _Came back to me._ “No matter what happens now, we know more about the Institute than we ever did. We’ll fix this. You. I. The Brotherhood. We won’t let them get away with this. I promise.”

It was her turn to feel relieved. To feel as if the weight were off her shoulders. To allow herself a moment to rest her mind, to relax, to not worry about the next step.

_He was right._

There was still the tape. There were sure to be answers there. Perhaps even a way to resolve this without utter destruction. Or an all-out war.

It would not fall to her and her alone to make the call. _They were all a part of this._

A grateful smile crossed her features.

Paladin Danse nodded, released his grip on her shoulders and stood up straight. He glanced back at the chaos he’d created on the T-60 behind him.

“You’d best get some rest,” he stated matter-of-factly. They’d been on the road long enough together that it was nearly impossible now to hide certain facts between them, such as a partner’s weariness. “I still need to complete a few tasks here before I need to check in with Elder Maxson about our next step. Rest, eat. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

There was no doubt they would be able to discuss matters more in-depth at a later time. What was unmistakeable was the apparent tax this mission had taken on his recruit. Not just a physical exhaustion, but no doubt it had been mentally trying as well. It would not be a poor idea to consult with Knight Cade as well, just to ensure there were no adverse side effects after using the relay.

A part of his mind urged him to leave the T-60 for now, to be the rock for his companion. A hand reached down to pick up the wrench he had dropped as he weighed the idea, looking at the steel hardware in his grip.

His brown gaze drifted to a recruit nearby. He was the commanding officer, after all.

“Recruit,” he said, voice commanding. “I require your assistance.”

After a brief exchange, he successfully delegated the task to another. It was not unusual for such tasking to take place. Although, typically, the tasks assigned weren’t so meticulously difficult. A small part of him apologized for leaving such an organized mess for someone else to tidy up. Still, matters of this scale were important. As acting Paladin, there would sometimes be moments like this.

He rejoined with Reed.

“Let’s get you some much needed food,” he said as they walked, “and go over details of your report, recruit. Then, I’ll let you get some rest. Deal?”

It was obvious that she was grateful for the company. The small smile that flashed up at him was enough to make his heart race slightly.

“Affirmative, sir,” she said as relief flooded her voice.

They would talk. She would rest. Then they would be on the road again as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

Back to their element. Where they both belonged.

He was grateful to have her back.


	10. Sparks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Caution: Sexual content of a graphic nature is featured in the beginning of this chapter. You've been advised)

Sparks from a small fire drifted into the air as a piece of burning timber crackled and popped in the darkness. Still, they would likely not be discovered. Walls surrounded on each side. A half-fallen building lay in ruins around them. Part of the roof had collapsed, laying down part of the second floor to the rear of the building. It would be hard-pressed to keep out the rain or storms, but it was dry this night. Rarely did they have the ability to light a fire when inside. To banish the cold without creating a smokey haze. Fortunately, the night was rather warm, dry. Stars could even be seen slightly above when the clouds did part every so often. It was like being inside and outside simultaneously.

Two silent suits of Power armor appeared to act as sentries nearest the door, backlit by the faint orange glow of the fire. Fusion cores hummed to themselves, unheard unless one were to press their ear and listen. Weapons had been set aside, loaded, ready at a moment’s notice should the need arise. A few fragmentation grenades had been set up along the perimeter, just in case. A tactic they often utilized when out in the field.

Neither of them were currently enjoying the fire, however.

Fortunately, the workbench on which he was leaning back against appeared to be stable, sturdy. A few tools, layered with dust, were accumulated on its surface alongside the well-used hand tools they’d brought with them. It had started out innocently enough. Repairs and generalized maintenance of their equipment before a crucial mission. Yet the secure location had provided more than just an opportunity to make repairs.

An audible sigh escaped his throat as the senior officer admired the dedication of his recruit, large hand briefly moving her copper-red hair away from her face and combing lightly back along her head in the half-light. His other hand braced slightly back against the workbench as he watched, eyes half-closing periodically as he savoured each sensation as it arced through his body like lightning. Each swirl of her tongue, each flex of her lips along his shaft. Uncontrollable muscle twitches raced down his lower body whenever he felt the smooth warmth of his length glide against the back of her throat.

His fatigues lay half unzipped around his torso, nearly falling off his hips. Yet he was not the only one who was exposed to the cool air, for her fatigues were fashioned similarly. Hanging off her hips, revealing the delicate and alluring curves of her torso. The familiar scar that she’d earned those months ago. Her bare breasts that were dotted with goosebumps, moving teasingly with each pass and stroke she made. _If only there were large hands that might warm them…_

Danse could feel her hand brush against his hip as she slightly held to his form, both encouragingly, teasingly, and to keep him from flexing against her unintentionally when discovering a particularly sensitive spot. He was trying to be mindful of that as well, but it was hard when ones partner was so adept at finding such points of pleasure. Normally one for leading a mission, it had felt slightly odd at first to be at such the mercy of another. He was unable to direct the pace. Each touch. The intensity. Yet he had given in to it readily after a few moments. She took command of him well. It had stirred him immediately. It seems his girth only offered a mild challenge to his partner. Within moments the movements had come with ease. Excitement, even. He’d been hard-pressed to keep himself in check on a few occasions, finding himself focusing briefly on what repairs his T-60 might need in the future in order to keep himself from ending this moment too quickly.

A moan against him drew his attention back to the blissful scene before him. His mouth parted slightly as he noticed his breathing was rather elevated. The vibrations of her voice against his hardened state was enough to make a man’s knees weak. It was only then that he had spied her hand between her own thighs, having slipped beneath her nearly-fallen fatigues, moving slowly as she pleasured herself while her lips were wrapped around his form.

“Oh god, Reed…” he said breathlessly, catching himself slightly as he fought to resist an animalistic thrust. Again she moaned against him, tongue rolling from side to side slowly. It had been a wise idea to keep a grip on the table behind him. He was leaning heavily upon it at this point, immensely thankful for its stability.

It would have been undoubtedly blissful to continue such actions for the remainder of the evening, but he would have been hard-pressed to maintain the mental strength to keep himself in check much longer. Heart was racing. An urgency was beginning to come to the forefront of his mind.

Without words, he reached down and took hold of her hand upon his hip, beaconing her upwards. The warmth of her mouth upon him disappeared. He could feel himself nearly ache as the sensations were lost momentarily. Compared to the warmth of her lips, the air was cool. He kissed her suddenly, passionately. Both were breathing heavily.

His shoulders flexed as he turned and lifted her form to sit on the workbench on which he had been leaning. Their kiss scarcely broke as he did, so close were they as they held onto one another. It took only a moment for his female companion to kick free the rest of her fatigues, letting them fall from her hips and off her body as she sat perfectly exposed before her senior officer.

Lustful brown gaze drank in her form with the utmost admiration.

He decided to continue where she had left off, slipping his larger hand between her thighs with a gentle and urgent touch. Satisfaction rolled over him as her form arched against his. A throaty moan was drawn from her lips at his touch. One of her hands gripped his wrist in pleasure while the other gently massaged at a sensitive breast. Slowly he rolled his hand circularly against her, a detail she’d confessed brought such intense pleasure. No fingers yet dipped within. Already his hand was slick with her arousal.

Her gaze was lost to him as her head rolled back in pleasure as he drew a variety of sounds from her lips. Sighs, gasps, moans. He kissed her neck as he stood nearly pressed against her. Slowly he stroked himself as he pleasured her, having to pause occasionally as he did so.

“Please, sir…” she gasped breathlessly. He could feel her legs trembling against him.

He slowly his hand against her, almost coming to a stop. Slow. Teasing.

“ _’Please, sir’_ what…?” he murmured heavily, head nearly resting upon her shoulder. He had become more confident in their escapades. More apt to express what was on his mind as time went on. Then again, she had as well. _How he loved when she would talk in the midst of passion._

His Knight went to respond but words failed as she gasped softly. Her grip on his forearm increased. Danse even found himself struggling to hold back, breathing heavily. The scene before him was only feeding the fuel of his desire. It was nearly as intense to give pleasure as it was to receive, he had found.

“… Please, sir…” her voice was soft. _A plea._ He sighed against the nape of her neck at its tone. “… Let me feel you… oh, please…”

It was easy to see where his companion sat at her threshold. The trembling of her form. The way she bit her lip. A new tone touched her words. Urgent. Needful. It would have been practically cruel to hold such a beautiful and eager form at bay much longer. That, and he was eager to feel her wrapped around him. To deny each any longer would have been unfair.

He removed his hand from her form and stepped towards her, hand coming to rest upon the top of her thigh as his grip remained on his hardened girth only a moment longer. Only a moment as he found her in the half-light. The warmth. How aroused she had become through his touches. A moan escaped his lips as he was met with a half-second of resistance. Of the tightness of her. He moved gently against her. Her thighs gripped at his hips as she moaned beneath him. Beaconing him. Encouraging him.

It took mere moments to work himself within her, to fill her with his length, to feel her form stretch around the girth of his aching member. Each movement he could feel her muscles grip at his member desperately. He closed his eyes briefly as he sought to focus, to calm himself slightly from the incredibly intense passion in the moment. However, it was nearly impossible.

His thrusts began to quicken as he relished the pleasure he’d found within her. Both moved passionately in the golden light with urgency. Eyes opening to drink in the lustful arching body beneath him. Sounds soon tumbled from his own lips. A sigh. A grunt. A shiver of electricity shot through his spine as she gripped at his arm, her fingertips pressed tightly as if bracing herself in the moment. The muscles in his shoulders flexed, glossy in the half-light. His lips parted as he breathed heavily, occasionally uttering a word of pleasure. As his hips met hers, he could feel her roll against him, moving with him, wanting him deep within her.

Soon her grip on him increased as she cried out in climax. _Had she uttered his name?_ He nearly moaned himself at the thought as he continued to move within her in increased speed, giving her every inch she craved. He could feel her fingernails on his flesh as she rode the waves of pleasure. He could feel those waves as they gripped at his shaft with each pass, constricting and pulsing with such intensity that he was nearly forced from her.

It caught him by surprise. The familiar sensation. The way it crept up from his toes and settled within his pelvis, urging him to let himself go. He closed his eyes as he sat at the cusp for only a few more thrusts. Then it began. His own pleasure. His own climax. Muscles along his legs and core flexed as he embraced it. His chin fell to his chest as he groaned slightly, drawing a sharp breath as he could feel his sensitive parts tighten and pulse. He could feel himself spilling within her, filling her warmth with each stroke, the tightness of her body seeming to milk every ounce from him with each thrust.

A hand remained on her thigh as his movements came to slow, then stop. Breaths came in quick succession between the two. Neither one moved for a time. Each body trembled just slightly from the excursion. Danse was mildly bracing himself as he stood, legs temporarily weakened as he stood at the edge of the workbench.

He leaned down after a moment, tasting the salt of her neck with a kiss as he savoured the moment. After a moment he slipped from within her, softening now, as some of his seed spilled unnoticed to the floor below. A calloused hand came up to touch her torso, hand wandering gently across the taught skin that rose and fell there with each breath.

Every so often the thought would strike him as he looked upon her with his umber gaze. Wondering what it was that she had seen in him. What he had gone to garner her attention, to win her affection in this unforgiving world. The thought struck him now. Just briefly. A half-thought, really. Part of him wanted to ask her. To ask why him? He wanted to keep her safe, to help her find happiness within the Commonwealth. Beyond measure. She made his heart race in the most surprising ways. He considered her, well, _beautiful._ Incredible. Strong.

Part of him suggested he leave it unasked. Here she was, in his arms, embraced in the most intimate ways. There was no doubt she cared about him just as deeply.

A fingertip traced the scar upon her abdomen. A long scar that reached from rib to just above the hip.

Soft lips were upon his, then, as she drew him to her in a gentle need. He kissed back readily.

* * *

It hadn’t been a difficult task between the two of them to locate the parts that Proctor Ingram had been seeking to forward their progress in their vast mission at the Boston Airport. Several locations had been laid out as likely prospects for the parts that they sought, and it had gone surprisingly well and yielded great success after only a few ventures. High-powered magnets for a creation known as Liberty Prime had been located, tagged and brought back for them to utilize in the project. Liberty Prime. It was a source of much boasting for the Brotherhood of Steel. A legendary weapon that had a rich history, boasting of power, progress, technological advancement, achievement of the human mind and was the source of more than a handful of altercations.

It took some lengthy explanation and delving into the deeper history of the Brotherhood to convey its true meaning to Reed, who seemed still genuinely confused as to what the weapon was. Was it a type of mechanical robot, or something more like Power Armor that they had seen before? Danse had decided to explain it more in detail, once they could view it as it had begun assembly. It would be easier then, perhaps, to feel the same appreciation for the technology as he did.

For years the Brotherhood of Steel had operated in various chapters across the entire Commonwealth. Going to where they were needed, where trouble had brewed, eliminated the source of the strife before moving on to another area in need of aid. Certain chapters and those that ranked among them were more known for their historical influence in sculpting this world than others. Such as their conflict and resolution with the Enclave, a fearsome group of radicals that operated outside of the interest of the whole.

He had lived it, breathed the stories, the legends and how it had shaped matters throughout the wasteland. It was difficult to convey all of the history, and its weight, to someone that still stood so new to the soil beneath their feet. With time, perhaps, but it would be difficult to truly convey how life had changed as a result.

Upon returning to the Boston Airport, they were met with further merit as to Reed's accomplishments within the confines of the Institute and her mission there. A doctor Li had arrived during their absence, met with Elder Maxson and was currently assisting Proctor Ingram with matters relating to the project. A scientist once on the side of the Brotherhood many years ago. The one who had initially resolved the several halting problems with initially launching Liberty Prime for the purposes of the Brotherhood itself. The giant robot of destruction. Now armed with an eye laser, and eventually nukes, there was no doubt it would be an asset in their challenges upon the Commonwealth here in Boston.

Knight Reed and Doctor Li spoke briefly. The doctor was frank. Reed did not speak with her long.

The Paladin could see a level of hesitation in his companion as they deposited the supplies they had located and took in the matters of the makeshift work space before them. The scaffolding that hoisted the metallic parts of Prime's original limbs into place. Nothing obvious, nothing even really in her words that might give it away at first. Yet she did not look upon the mechanical marvel with the same sense of awe as many of the others did in its presence. Her face was rather blank.

“What do you think?” he asked.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Proctor Ingram working at a command console. They would check with her as to the status of the Scribe's work in ascertaining the potential location for the Mark 28 nuclear warheads. Locating them, tagging and designating extraction of the payloads would be their next lofty mission, if the Scribes had managed to find such guarded information amongst the transcripts.

Reed glanced at her superior for a moment before continuing to gaze at the partially assembled form of Liberty Prime. It was simply a torso for now, with head in place and arms strewn about as they disassembled the original connectors for the massive joints and re-worked the areas to accommodate the newly acquired high-powered magnets that would be able to hoist a better payload.

“It’s… big,” she said, tone somewhat unsure.

_She wanted to ask what it was they were going to use it for. But, part of her already knew it was part of their making ready for an assault on the Institute.  
_

* * *

 

_Why would Haylen want to see him so urgently?_

The message had been rather cryptic in nature when it reached him on the shared squad frequency. Too simple for a normal transmission from the squad mate. An analytical mind such as the one Scribe Haylen possessed often relished in the details of newly found intel. Enjoyed with great glee the sharing of information, of discoveries, of new thoughts on matters worth pondering. Yet, the communication had simply been to meet her at the final checkpoint for supplies before they ventured out to the Glowing Sea. Nothing more.

Still, it would be good to see his comrade-in-arms again. It had been a surprising amount of time since their last communication, let alone their last mission together. A familiar feeling of excitement sat within his chest as they walked, T-60 striking the ground rhythmically as they strode towards the final Brotherhood outlook before they would take to the Sea once more. A level of excitement in a way. Looking forward to being useful. To accomplishing tasks. To achieving their personal victory in this assignment. For the mission. For the next step in their quest to re-animate the long-destroyed Liberty Prime, torn so quickly from the line of duty after the destruction of the orbital relay.

If the pieces all fit, it would not be long until they could formulate a plan for dealing with matters of the Institute. For gathering their resources, their intel and using it to formulate a solid plan of attack. It was all coming together, time and time again. Their role had been a prominent one in the majority of events that had unfolded over the past year that pushed them closer and closer to their common goal.

He glanced to his traveling companion. _It was nice to see her wearing her Power armor again._

Sandbags were strewn about in an organized fashion atop a small peak as they neared their destination. Bodies and movement could be seen throughout the area. Armed BOS soldiers stood dutifully. Recruits worked busily. Scribes poured over documents. A Knight or two were armed and on guard. It was good to see such serious consideration given to a temporary outpost. Lessen the risk by providing additional firepower regardless of the supposed security of their situation. It was always easier to deter a fight than it was to try and win one.

“Paladin Danse,” Scribe Haylen said happily as she looked up from a crudely organized terminal system. “It’s good to see you. And you too, Knight. You’ve come a long way since you stumbled into the Cambridge Police Station.”

Knight Reed offered the familiar Scribe a smile of her own. “It’s good to see you too, Scribe Haylen. How have things been over there?”

“Pretty well, actually,” she put her hands on her hips confidently. “We’ve had the occasional synth attack, but so far we’ve been able to keep them from overrunning us. Thanks to the reinforcements and the air support, I’d say that site was secure.”

“That’s not surprising. After all, it’s in good hands,” Reed said in full honesty. _Haylen was one of the best._

“I appreciate that. Anyway, I know you don’t have time for small talk, so I’ll get right to it. I’ve had the men set up the equipment we’ll need to pinpoint you once you’ve found the bombs. We’ve rigged up this Distress Pulser to emit a unique tone that we’ll be listening for. When you find the bombs, plant the Pulser and we’ll handle the rest. After that, you should probably head back to Proctor Ingram and bring her your report.”

“Doesn’t sound too difficult,” Reed said, sarcasm tickling the words slightly.

Haylen laughed. “Oh, no… not at all. You’re only heading back into the most inhospitable place in the entire Commonwealth.” Her features fell into a serious expression then. “Look, I know you’ve been through the Glowing Sea before, but remember to keep an eye on your Geiger counter.”

None of them really had to be saying the words. They all knew it. Felt it. Even from here the yellow-green haze of that wasteland corrupted the horizon with an eerie promise. Winds blowing in from that direction would still send Geiger counters crackling briefly this far out. Everyone was always mindful of radiation when they were venturing into the Commonwealth. Some areas were certainly more demanding of respect than others.

“We’ll be careful, Haylen,” Danse spoke up then, nodding for emphasis _. If there was anyone who took the risks of mission to heart, it was the Paladin._

“I know you will, sir,” the Scribe responded confidently. She’d operated under his command for longer than even Knight Reed. She knew his leadership skills were not the work of rumor.

“Reed, gather what additional supplies we need, check to ensure that the Distress Pulser is sufficiently calibrated and that we pack it away safely. If we lose it, or if it fails to signal, we’ll have to come all the way back here to convey the message and lose precious time,” he ordered to his recruit. It was a familiar tone. Authoritative without demanding. A strong request, perhaps.

“Yes, sir,” the Knight responded without hesitation. Quickly she approached a nearby Recruit, who aided in their supply and gear-check pre-mission.

It was then that a hand was upon his arm, briefly, insistently. Paladin Danse turned to regard Scribe Haylen with a questioning eyebrow.

“Take this,” the Scribe said in a hushed tone. She spoke quickly, moved quickly. Almost frantically. A holotape was pushed into his hand.

“Haylen, what are—“

She cut him off.

“Listen to it, sir. Soon. Just you. You need to hear it. Before the mission is over,” her words were fast, rapid-fire. He caught each one with growing apprehension.

“I don’t kno—“

Haylen shook her head, “Everything’s there.”

“What, Haylen? What’s there?” his voice mimicked hers. Hushed. Low. Something was going on and it sat very poorly with him. Shrouded in mystery was something he was not fond of.

Her grey eyes sought his with such intensity then. It was impossible to decipher what might be going on within her thoughts to cause her to act like this. Normally, such behavior would rouse irritation from the Paladin. Cyptic messages were best left to those who enjoyed analyzing and decoding them. He did not. It was why he had not gone on to become a scribe.

Still, it was Haylen. A member of his squad. She’d never done him wrong before. Not once.

Danse closed his hand around the holotape and quickly deposited it to the storage compartment located near the waist of his Power Armor. He nodded. Hushed tones. Rushed words. It was a cryptic message, but he would be willing to help Haylen with whatever might be wrong if he could. _Soon,_ she had said. _Before the mission was over._

_What was going on?_

“Affirmative, Scribe,” he responded with promise. He’d listen to it. _Soon._

“Paladin Danse,” she said suddenly as he made ready to hurry along on their way.

Danse paused as he looked at her.

“Ad victorium... sir.”

 


	11. Hostiles in the Glow

It was odd that the sensation of burnt earth was familiar beneath their feet by now. That the treks out here, the ventures into the radioactive chaos that was the Sea, weren’t foreign any longer. Yet, that did not give either party reason to drop their guard. If anything, it only solidified the gravity of what they were facing. To have to watch ones Geiger counter regularly to ensure they hadn’t strayed into a particularly hot location as they walked. To always have eyes and weapons up in the shifting fog and toxic drifting clouds of isotopes in case of hostiles waiting in the murk.

The creatures out here had grown up within the elements of this unlivable region. Understood it in an intimate way that no human truly did. Save, perhaps, for the questionable clan that called themselves the Children of Atom. Zealots in their own right. Praying to a god of radiation and destruction.

“The map shows us being approximately eleven clicks out,” Reed rattled over the audio relay as she took a moment to analyze her Pip-Boy. “Give or take a few.”

Scribes had located a generalized location of a military supply outpost within the Glowing Sea. However, exact details of its whereabouts were a guess. If it was still standing, of course. If they could still access it, of course. No building was completely nuke-proof, especially the closer they would get to ground zero. It was a partially blind mission with no promise of success.

“Affirmative,” Danse radioed back. “We’ll keep this heading and track in a grid pattern if nothing comes of their projected location. If night falls before we locate it, we defer to less radiated areas to rest and resume in the morning.”

Reed nodded to herself.

Still, despite the danger and the risks, it felt good to be out in the field instead of cooped up doing reports aboard the Prydwen. Life after her return from the Institute was enough to give her a writer’s cramp and carpel tunnel with the amount of details she had been asked to confirm, write down and describe. It had taken a number of days before Elder Maxson and Proctor Quinlinn were satiated with sufficient intel and had released her to resume duties as normal. Fortunately, Paladin Danse had been required to remain aboard as well during these council sessions. His insight into strategy was highly valued by their leader. So she hadn't faced such scrutiny alone.

“Hostile spotted,” his voice crackled over the relay, drawing her weapon to sweep the landscape.

It was disorienting to be stuck in the haze.

Suddenly, there it was, rushing at them. Red flashes announced the Paladin’s finger on the trigger as he sought out the hostile charging towards them with pinchers flexing threateningly. A radscorpion. A large one too. Heavy carapace covered the majority of its body like built-in plating. Regular rounds from most rifles would have glanced off unless it was of a higher caliper.

_Shit._

Swiftly, she was loosening her own laser rounds at the creature as she kept her feet moving. While it would not be able to do much damage with its pinchers directly, what with both of them wearing Power Armor and all, but it was still a decent threat. Powerful blows were enough to knock most off their feet. An arcing stinger may not have been able to penetrate the plating they wore directly, but their T-60s were not completely invulnerable. Weak spots sat at the joints of each limb. At the crook of an elbow, or a bend near the groin. Weak spots that would possibly yield under the full blow of a venom-laden stinger.

Neither one enjoyed the idea of enduring that kind of demise.

Reed threw herself roughly to the side, catching her balance but barely as she rapidly took shots at the creature. It was nearly large enough for her to ride, if she hadn’t been wearing her T-60. Red flashes continued to bombard the massive insect. Oozing liquid dripped from its own weak spots as it began to foretell of sustained injuries from their defense.

As quickly as it appeared, the hostile slipped away into the haze with a heavy limp.

Both BOS soldiers were drawing slightly quickened breaths.

It wasn’t until Paladin Danse was knocked down violently from behind that they realized it hadn’t been the two of them that had given the radscorpion cause to flee. Rocks and earth clattered with a spray as the well-armed senior officer skipped a bump or two along the ground with a grunt, like some Power Armored skipping stone.

Reed snapped her weapon to attention as she moved to familiar fighting stance as gaze swept the scene before her.

It knocked the wind from him so unexpectedly, even through the toughness of his steel-plated armor. Muscles in his abdomen flexed against the onslaught before fighting for a gasp of air as he coughed. Mobility in the suit was limited, but its level of protection outweighed the cons from reduced visibility and dexterity. Fortunately so. No one had seen that blow coming. Had there been no armor, surely the damage would have been catastrophic.

It was on him, then. The grating sound of steel on rock echoed throughout the suit as he was pulled and pushed about like some sort of ragdoll. Laser rifle continued to stay in his grip, but the angle of his body couldn’t allow him to bend his arm back to fire. Suddenly, he was tossed again. This time not as hard, nor as far. Landing on his back, he struggled quickly to pull his weapon to shoulder and loosen the rounds contained within in rapid succession.

Gnashing teeth swung backwards as the large Deathclaw caught a face full of the red-hot rounds. No doubt it was painful. Still, the protective hide of their body was incredibly difficult to pierce and accomplish significant damage. Additional rounds flew towards the creature’s weaker belly plating as he struggled to get to his feet.

A large clawed foot shoved the Paladin back down with a vengeance. Pings and pops could be heard from the metallic suit as it flexed ever so slightly beneath the weight of the one-story-tall monster. An orange light flashed from Danse’s HUD output within his helmet visor, warning of possible structural damage and increasing risk of structural failure.

It bent down and clamped firm teeth onto the Brotherhood soldier’s helmet, turning violently in an attempt to rend the head from its form. A coupler hissed in protest. The visor screen groaned as if ready to crack.

Still, he fired, no longer able to see where he was aiming.

Suddenly the darkness was gone, teeth no longer upon his helmet as the creature sat back with a mighty bellow. It scratched angrily at its face with large razor-sharp claws. Frantically. Hurling its head back in forth dramatically as liquid oozed from its right eye socket. A rusted piece of rebar clattered to the ground, moist from its violent insertion into the creature’s skull.

Reed stood braced beside her temporarily fallen senior officer, hands reaching once more to gather her weapon.

“Danse, you okay?!” she shouted slightly, even though the relay between the helmets was still viable.

“Affirmative,” he said with a grunt as he moved to get to his feet. Some servo in his suit grinded angrily. “Surprised that didn’t take it down.”

“Thick skull,” she said firmly, almost bitterly.

It caught them both off guard as the world tilted once more. The Deathclaw recovered from its initial surprise from the assault on it's eye, regained its bearings and returned to the foes with a singular gaze. A swipe from its massive tail knocked both soldiers backwards. Danse was able to regain his footing. Reed stumbled and fell roughly to her side.

“Frag it!” she was saying in the tumble.

Modified laser rifle slung back as he reached for the familiar metallic orbs stored in the hip and leg compartments. They would be close to the explosion, but it was practically what their suits had been designed for. To sustain a close-range assault from all manner of weaponry. He was nearly about to pull the pin and throw when movement caught his attention.

Suddenly it was on the large and grizzled Deathclaw. A distraction. A spot of fortune in the yellow haze of the Sea. It leapt upon the back of the much greater sized Deathclaw with a vicious growl. They might be able to sneak away, to gain ground…

_Shit._

_Was that Rook?_

Blood splashed violently from the neck of the larger Deathclaw as the smaller one opened up it's thick hide, spilling the liquid of life to the ground below to mix with the yellow-green liquids that pooled there.

“Take aim at the weakened hide!” Danse was saying as he redrew his weapon and hoisted the stock to his shoulder.

A barrage of laser-rounds illuminated the battling duo. Red-hot rounds hissed as they mixed with the blood and ate their way into the opened wounds along the creature’s hide. It bellowed angrily, movements more chaotic and frantic with each passing moment. There were too many disadvantages for it now. The fight was no longer worth it. It growled and reached, grasping the foe upon its back and hurling it violently to the side. The smaller Deathclaw bumped and skidded across the ground only a few yards before it was already on its feet, hissing and ready to return to the fray. Blood dripped victoriously from its claws.

As Reed took aim at the open wound of its skull and loosened several rounds into the sensitive and weakened area, the imposing threat began to back down. Began to yield its ground. With a throaty grumble of defeat, it turned and rushed off into the distance, large steps drumming the ground in retreat. Deathclaws were fiercely intelligent. There was no doubt it may return, proceed to stalk them until a better time to catch them off-guard. But for now, the match was too much.

They would have to keep their guard up for the remainder of the mission. They’d have to keep moving, and quickly.

“What the hell, Rook?” Danse was saying as he spun to look at the man-high Deathclaw.

It tilted its head curiously in return, throat rumbling with familiarity. It stood nearly at gazing height with the Paladin in his Power Armor, forehands and claws tucked and kept neatly against its chest. Pale, white face stood out against the darkness of the rest of the Deathclaw’s hide. It was surely not as large as the elder Deathclaw with which they had just faced, but he had surely grown and grown well during their absence.

“Why would you take on something that big? Could’ve gotten yourself killed,” the Paladin continued to lecture, although his tone was not as harsh as if it had been a human recruit. The words may have been scolding, but the tone was more that of gratefulness.

Rook thrummed.

Reed was surprised at their luck. And happy to see their not-so-little companion again.

“I thought he would’ve forgotten about us,” she was saying as she shouldered her weapon.

A helmeted head shook slightly in front of her in thought, “I thought so too. Maybe there’s more to these creatures than we realized.”

He approached Rook without hesitation. There was no doubt the creature had just saved their lives in a way. It did indeed remember them. Otherwise, it would have joined in the attack surely. Spikes and spines were beginning to form along the surface of the smaller Deathclaw as time passed, it seemed. Growing more and more into the rendition of a creature that was known for its ferocity on the landscape. Still, it was good to see that it’d been doing well. “Doesn’t look like you got too roughed up there, Rook. I think you’ll be just fine. Too fast compared to that other one,” he said as he stepped back after giving the 'recruit' a quick examination.

The only blood on Rook was not his own.

Danse's gaze sought out Reed’s, both faces shielded by metal and tempered glass.

“We need to keep moving,” he said, tone serious. “It could return. There could be others. We need to find our location before we’re faced with another challenge like that again.”

The Knight nodded within her helmet. Already the heat of the parched earth was beginning to infiltrate her suit and make it increasingly more uncomfortable within the confines.

“Affirmative, sir,” the Vault dweller agreed. They needed to find their projected location if possible, or fall back and regroup in a less hostile vantage point to determine how to proceed with the search.

A radstorm was brewing upon the horizon, grumbling and booming with increased volume.

The duo, trio really, began to move out.

It was still approximately eleven clicks to their proposed target range. Winds would likely pick up as they proceeded forward to meet the brunt of the storm. Even now the Geiger counters would crackle ever-so-slightly in a blip of warning. Armored footsteps and mechanical joints echoed across the landscape as both hulking suits continued out with the intention of mission completion.

Softer, padded feet echoed behind them as Rook apparently took up position of rear-guard.

Danse cast a look back occasionally, checking to see if their random companion was still within their company. Wondering if it would venture off again like it had when they had quested to the Glowing Sea to meet with the scientist Virgil. It had been young then. Briefly he wondered what it must have thought to have been suddenly alone out here. Logic and training had told him it had no concept of that. Behavior and experience with it first hand was telling of conflicting data.

This time, the Deathclaw did not lag behind. Did not become distracted. Older now. It had survived the harshness of the Glowing Sea despite the disadvantage of being a hatchling at the time. Still, not a weak hatchling. It had been armed with teeth, with claws, and even then its hide had been thick. It had survived well.

Rook thrummed occasionally as they jogged, tossing out a chuffing note or gurgling rumble. Its head bobbed slightly with each stride, forelimbs tucked to its chest as pale eyes continuously scanned the world around them.

It was hard to say if the creature was happy to see them.

Danse concluded that he would assume as much.

It had saved them, after all.

* * *

Both Geiger counters were crackling with advisory as a building loomed up before them out of the mist. Pools of yellow-gold liquid dotted the landscape immediately before it, foreboding and tingling with life-threatening radiation. Glossy swirls of iridescence danced over the surface like oil, or some type of fuel. It was difficult to navigate the section without splashing the toxic compounds onto the lower extremities. No doubt they would have to be cautious when they were done here and take extra care to ensure their suits were not compromised by the sheer amount of exposure.

Dutifully, the bunker stood out against the landscape. Relatively unphased for being so near the hot zone. Scorch marks crested along the triangular concrete walls but otherwise it appeared to be relatively intact.

They had lucked out.

Even better was the apparent doorway that had both survived the blast from the nuclear fallout, and the fact it appeared to still be operational. Geiger counters crackled and squawked in warning as they traversed dangerously close to the brighter glowing pools nearest the entrance. However, matters looked immensely promising. Casings that appeared to be used for nuclear materials, or the cages in which they were often transferred, lay strewn about haphazardly.

“It appears as if the door is still operational,” Paladin Danse remarked as he stood before the bunker, scrutinizing the plan for their mission in his mind. It was not unusual for the senior officer to go through each planned mental step before proceeding. If plans changed, so be it and they would deal with it then. Yet it was always important to be prepared with some sense of what they were trying to accomplish.

They would be seeking the Mark 28 nuclear warheads once they were inside. A military outpost, there was the possibility of security measures along the way. Even so, it was apparently a secretive base of operations for the materials. There may have been a chance that security for the facility lay in its secrecy rather than turrets or Protectrons.

“Once inside, we identify any immediate threats and seek to locate any whereabouts of the materials,” the Paladin went on to confirm. He glanced at his recruit. She was familiar with their tactics by now, but it never hurt to rehash a plan. “If we identify hostiles along the way, we take the time to neutralize them. Should we locate the ammunition and set out the Distress Pulser, we don’t want our brothers and sisters in arms to walk in unprepared.”

It made absolute sense. If they failed at successfully clearing the facility, then they were putting other less experienced field operatives at risk. Finding the Mark 28s was a priority, but not at the expense of being reckless or rushed.

“Affirmative, sir,” Reed said as she reloaded the magazine of her rifle.

“And you,” Danse said as he turned towards their Deathclaw companion. _It still seemed so surprising that the hatchling now stood nearly as tall as him._ “You come with us, for now. I don’t want to set the pulser and have our squad show up with guns blazing. Once we locate the Mark 28s, I’ll escort Rook to a safe area so he isn’t inadvertently put down in a misunderstanding.”

It was their prerogative to eliminate hostile lifeforms and threats to the people of the Commonwealth. Rook fit neither of those descriptions, except his species.

_A grey area._

Reed nodded in agreement. It would have been disappointing to see the creature needlessly gunned down. Yes, Deathclaws were dangerous, but this particular one didn’t appear to think foully of humans.

With the plan in place, both soldiers stepped into the unknown of the building within.

* * *

Alarms had blared angrily at the presense of the two. Red lights mounted on the walls spun in angry circles in time with the shrieking of the alarms. Once within, the military outpost was more easily identified as a nuclear mission silo station. Air was the only thing beneath their feet, held aloft by a winding metallic walkway and staircase that rounded the walls on either side of the vast silo. Each step echoed throughout the entire building, although the sound was currently drowned out by the sirens.

“See if you can’t find a way to turn those off,” Danse designated. It was grating on the nerves.

“I’ll see what I can do,” the female soldier replied as she ventured off to the left. A doorway appeared in the wall in that direction, a terminal located just outside. Between the two of them, she was the more experienced with technology. Nick was a great teacher.

Rook growled throatily as he glanced about. Used to earth beneath his feet, it was clear he was unsettled by the sudden change in environment. A tremor ran along the plating of his spine, causing the developing spikes and spines there to rattle almost like a tumbling of bones. It was easy to identify when a Deathclaw was on alert. The head would drop lower, hackles seeming to raise in disapproval.

Even Danse could smell it just faintly through the purifying filters of his helmet.

_Ghouls._

They had a distinct odour that was impossible to confuse with anything else.

“Something is causing the system to be stuck in a security protocol,” the soft familiar voice echoed in his helmet. It was surprising how unexpectedly it caught him off-guard and made him internally smile at times. The kind voice. Outwardly, this was still field work and it was important to stay focused. His heart raced just slightly with fondness.

“Then let’s keeping moving,” he radioed in response. He took a moment to check the steel-gridded walkway to the right to ensure he couldn’t actively see any hostiles at the moment. “Smell that?”

“Mhmm,” she radioed back unhappily. “Smells like ghouls in here.”

Danse nodded to himself, “Affirmative. Rook is in defense mode too. We regroup and proceed with caution. I want to clear this place floor by floor. Did the terminal identify the location of the Mark 28s?”

Ringing footsteps of metal-on-metal echoed out over the massive silo as he moved to rejoin her.

“Negative,” her voice was only slightly distorted. “But, given what we’ve seen so far, it would be highly likely that some type of useful technology was stored here. Possibly even the Mark 28s, if the attack in two-twenty-seven caught them by surprise. There would have been no time to move them.”

_Reed would have made a decent field Scribe as well, it seemed._

“I agree,” the Paladin said confidently. “I think we have a good chance of finding what we’re looking for here.”

It took only a few moments to regroup and press on into the depths of the surprisingly intact monumental building. Were one to look down over the railing, it was almost too hazy to see the bottom level where the silo finally came to ground. It was reassuring that the building appeared so untouched by time. The metal beneath their feet boasted no rust nor decay. It stood firmly beneath them, never swaying or groaning with threat. Fortunate because it was a very long way down.

Walkways and stairs wandered in and out of the walls. Doorways opened against the vast concrete walls with promise of a brief escape from the blaring alarms. A few terminals were set up here and there as they navigated the winding corridors. None of the computers offered anything other than the compromised security lockout of the silo doors.

Turning and turning, down they went until finally they were perhaps only a scarce story above the ground level. A door remained closed at this part, but a large window offered them a better view of what lay down this low. Shadows moved in the dark and dusty haze of the main silo. Slow, shambling. A few of the figures appeared to tremble and limp as they ventured with blank gazing eyes.

“Ghouls,” Reed muttered with disgust beneath her breath. _Feral ghouls._ Crazy, fast, with a powerful and radioactive bite. Despite the heat, she was suddenly grateful for her T-60.

“We’ll need to open the door to get to them,” Danse surmised with some apprehension. _For every feral ghoul a person could see, it was safe to assume there were a handful of others out of sight._ “We don’t want them to flood in if we start shooting, however.”

“I could go back up one level and pick off what I can with my .45,” Reed offered strategically. “Might stir up the group of them, but we’ll have a better idea of what we’re facing off against.”

_It was a solid plan._

“Affirmative,” he echoed from within his own T-60. “Head up to the last walkway and see what you can determine. I’ll stay here and guard the door.”

It took only a few minutes for Reed to find a position from the room above, its doorway stretching out again onto the stairs that rounded the silo. Opened her once more to the vastness of this relatively untouched and unclaimed world. Save for the feral ghouls, of course. It took her a moment to identify the targets, but when she did, it was easy enough to clear a few rounds. Stroking the trigger gently as a feral ghoul lined up within the glowing circle of her sight. It was a long shot, so she aimed for the upper body. If it took their head off, then they were fortunate. If it didn’t, a few more rounds would help bring the creature down.

Bullet caught the ghoul roughly in the upper body, spinning it slightly around. A second bullet ruptured its skull and threw the mutated carcass to the concrete floor dramatically. Several more shadows moved in the haze and dark, more frantically now. The sound of the rounds echoed off of the walls, interrupting the rhythm of the alarms blaring in the background.

Several more rounds were cleared before her magazine clicked with request for more ammunition. Two ghouls lay with decaying grey matter spilling onto the floor with a stomach-churning smell. Others stumbled and appeared disoriented after rounds had entered their chests. A fresh magazine was inserted into the pistol. Again more bullets were sent to the world below, raining death on the hostiles that dwelled there. A few more fell as they wandered in her direction, looking up as the bullets came down.

After the majority of targets had been reduced, red laser rifle fire began to cut through the remaining small number of ghouls. A hulking form of a beast exited the doorway below and fell upon a nearby ghoul with ambition, rending it limb from limb with mighty razor claws.

Soon, the world at ground level was still.

“Regroup,” her lover’s voice echoed into the relay of her helmet. She smiled at the sound. “We’ll press forward into the secondary storage area and see what we can find. I imagine there will be more ghouls along the way, so stay alert.”

“Affirmative, sir,” she confirmed, still holding her pistol for the moment. Between the three of them, it would be little difficulty to put down any feral ghoul that came their way. Footsteps moved her to group with her squad.

“Nice shots, by the way.”

“I was taught by one of the best, you know," she radioed back lightheartedly.


	12. Mark 28s

The tunnels had been dizzying. Low, cramped, close quarters. Not the ideal place to be facing off against fast-running ghouls. Still, it hadn’t taken much to clear their way through each corridor. Rook tagged along behind to avoid getting caught with any stray bullets or laser rounds, and to ensure nothing crept up unawares behind them as they pressed forward. A few encounters had given the party cause to startle as a hostile literally crawled out of a hole in the wall towards them as they passed by, or from beneath the walkway. It gave this place an uneasy feeling of some type of morbid maze.

Rook chuffed more at ease now, head up and looking this way and that as they walked. Muscles in his shoulders relaxed and he no longer growled deep in his throat when they rounded a corner.

If any other hostiles remained, they were likely few and far between.

A mighty blast door reached up before them after approximately half a click, nearly two stories tall. Concrete surrounded them entirely at this point. No wonder the nuclear blast hadn’t demolished this place completely when the nukes had fallen across the country. The thickness of the concrete walls here was staggering. Unsurprisingly, the large doors were sealed. But more surprisingly was the terminal that sat on a desk adjacent to the mighty doors. A screwdriver had been violently shoved into the monitor, rendering it useless.

_Odd._

Reasoning behind it became apparent as they moved into the next room.

A man turned to face them.

 _Shit_ , they both thought. _  
_

“State your purpose, stranger. You walk on Atom’s hallowed ground,” the bald man stated boldly, startled by the trio. Eyes held a maddened type of look. A colander was strapped to his chest with what looked like braided wires around his torso and shoulders.

_A Child of Atom. Great._

Both Paladin Danse and Knight Reed groaned slightly.

“You… may want to take point on this one,” Danse relayed to his recruit. There was no question that the Paladin was less successful at positive interaction with certain groups among the Commonwealth. Reed had a way with words.

The Knight interally sighed. It was never easy dealing with these folk. Radiation didn’t mutate them like the feral ghouls, but it did corrupt them in a different way. They were still toxic with their radical ideas and god.

“I’m looking for some bombs… nuclear bombs,” she began, tone slightly cautious. Aggressive tactics didn’t typically work well in negotiations with the religious group.

“You trivialize that which resides here. This place is holy,” the Atom worshipper said in a voice agast. “The Children of Atom have sworn to guard this place until the time of the Great Divide. None shall enter.”

Reed stole a glance to her left where an Assaultron stood with weapons at the ready. It was currently keeping the two of them in its sights. Not a foe to take lightly. She pressed to try and resolve this situation without triggering a gunfight if possible.

“Trust me, I’m on your side here. I want to help you out,” she offered.

Brows furrowed in response. “Atom has no need of help from non-believers.”

“Careful, Reed,” Danse’s voice whispered over their audio relay. “This man is obviously delusional.”

“When He returns to us, these relics will carry his Word and his Glory to all corners of the earth!” the man proclaimed confidently.

Something clicked in her mind. An idea.

“I want to spread his, uhh, glory… Look, the bombs will get used, okay? Isn’t that what you want?” she almost seemed exasperated.

“Truly?” the man seemed to look at her more thoroughly, as if measuring the test of his eyes. “If… if that is true, if you are here to spread his Glory…”

Silence enveloped the room for a short time.

“Your words ring true,” he announced with a smile that touched his maddened eyes. “Take this, and prepare to enter His inner sanctum. Follow the brilliance of the Glow, and it shall lead you to the relics. May Atom’s radiance warm your soul.”

It was the password information to the only remaining operating terminal.

Danse raised an eyebrow at the entire interaction. Truthfully, he would have rather done away with the madman than enter in negotiations.

A glance at the Assaultron to his left made him appreciate a little more the tactics of his recruit.

They did work well together, it seemed.

* * *

Crackling and occasional screeches rambled incoherently over their Geiger counters as the two Power Armored soldiers opened the blast doors to the Mark 28 stockpile room. Massive red metal cages surrounded each nuke and allowed for a more secure ability to transport and stack the weapons without folly. They were stacked nearly to the ceiling in some parts as the warehouse stretched out before them. The air was stale, as much as it was filtered by their suits. This place hadn’t been opened for some time.

“We can’t stay here too long,” Paladin Danse was quick to evaluate. Radiation outdoors would ebb and flow with the winds. In here, there seemed to be a much higher concentration even for their suits.

“I’ll set up the Distress Pulser,” the Knight said quickly as she slung her weapon and made ready the device from Haylen. They had shown her a handful of times how to successfully turn on the device. It was pre-tuned. All that was required was confirming the frequency and turning on the power source in the correct sequence.

A red light began to blip on and off on the device. _Got it._

Carefully she put the beacon down on a nearby forklift, wedging it slightly so that it wouldn’t tumble off or be knocked out of frequency. And, to keep it somewhat hidden in case they were being watched. Just in case. The Commonwealth created a sense of paranoia with so many things. A survival tactic. Caution, always caution.

“Danse, I have it up and running,” the Vault dweller said successfully.

“Excellent,” he said with a smile behind his features. “Now that this site’s been secured, you should return to the airport. I’ll remain here. I’ll meet you aboard the Prydwen as soon as these bombs are counted, tested and loaded. I will also get Rook out of here before the extraction team arrives.”

“Will you be alright on your own?” Reed asked with genuine concern.

It appeared that they had successfully dealt with the Brother of Atom, but that did not mean they wouldn’t try something rash on a whim. That and it was always risky to separate from ones party. Still, the threat from the Children of Atom was very real.

Danse shook his head. “I doubt they will try anything once our support arrives. Taking on two experienced field operatives is one thing. Taking on an entire extraction team in Power Armor… I highly doubt they would try it.”

It made sense.

“Affirmative, sir,” she said hesitantly. “I’ll report back to Proctor Ingram about our success here. And then meet you aboard the Prydwen.”

While the Paladin didn’t much relish the idea of his Knight returning across the Glowing Sea on her own, there were multiple reasons why it would be the best course of action for what was needed. That Rook needed a safe escape before anyone arrived, least they gun him down mistakingly. The holotape Haylen had given him was weighing heavily in his pocket. He was still unsure what might be on it, and did not want to take any chances about what may be contained within. And of course there were the Children of Atom. They would not foolishly attack, but it was not out of the question when it came to the religious zealots acting unusually.

“Reed,” he said in his authoritative tone, “You keep moving out there. Don’t stop to engage. Once you’re out of the hot zone, radio for vertibird extraction.”

He could almost feel her smiling from behind the metal of her helmet.

“Of course, sir,” she said. _He always worried._

It was his turn to smile slightly.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said affirmatively.

“Ad victorium, sir,” she responded traditionally, tone warm and kind.

Worry sat on his chest as he watched her leave.

Rook stood behind him. A rumble from his throat brought the Paladin back from his thoughts after a few moments. The only sound to interrupt the concrete bunker around them, save for the nearly continuous chattering of his Geiger counter.

“Let’s see what’s on this tape, shall we?” Danse asked as he turned to the larger creature, giving him a brief affectionate rub on the top of the critters head. Before long, the Deathclaw would be too tall to casually reach out and touch, it would seem. Already its horns were beginning to thicken, elongate and curl slightly on either side of the non-hostile hostile's skull.

Rook thrummed contentedly, lips still slightly moist from ripping a ghoul in half earlier in their trek.

* * *

Danse stared unfocused at the world before him, barely seeing anything as his mind raced.

He sat in thought, hands clasped before him.

At first he had been standing as the message from the Scribe began to play from the only remaining functional terminal this low in the facility, echoing hauntingly only for his ears and Rook's in the silence of the warehouse operations room. As the words played out, as the script was relayed, he had come to half-sit on the edge of the sturdy desk. Only a slight groan complained of the weight of his Power Armor being partially thrust upon it.

It was Haylen’s voice that had been recorded upon that cartridge. _A warning._

A mental haze overtook the senior officer as he stared off into nothingness, turning the words over in his mind as he tried to formulate and embrace the situation that was being thrust upon him without even a hint of warning. Of the message Haylen had brought to him with such cryptic behavior and secrecy. Part of him had guessed at possible reasons for such behavior.

But, nothing could have prepared him for it.

In silence, he reached out and tapped the appropriate key to replay the message once more over the audio speakers. A second time. In case he misunderstood. In case the words were somehow not what he had initially heard. The terminal clicked and whirled slightly as it reloaded the holotape to play from the very beginning of its data. There was only one message.

A hiss wheezed out into the still and unmoving air as the Paladin removed his helmet. Black hair matted slightly to his features where it had worked its way from the confines of his BOS issued hood. The helmet fell heavily to the table beside him without a care.

_“Danse, I… I don’t know how to begin, sir…”_

It was Haylen’s voice. It was somewhat hushed.

Danse briefly rubbed the sweat from his brow with the back of a steel-gloved hand as he waited for the words to come again.

_“… Proctor Quinlinn forwarded me the data we had gained from the Institute. The scrubbing program that Proctor Ingram had created and used to gather intel on their system. Look, some of the data was incomplete, others encrypted. We decoded what we could. I was sent a portion to work on. At first I didn’t realize what we were looking at. It was data. Logs. History from their system on various projects in a place called their Bioscience Division._

_“The information was incredible. More than we imagined. But I think I understand now why Proctor Quinlinn forwarded me the data. He’d already decrypted it, I’m guessing. Already knew what he’d found. He was just… he was just confirming if I would make the same discovery. Two sets of eyes, you know?"_

A pause in the holotape.

The Scribe seemed to draw a deep breath in the background.

Again the hushed voice returned.

_“I checked it. I checked it half a dozen times. I wanted to be wrong, but it was right there. All of it was right there. As much as I didn’t want to be seeing what I was seeing. And I knew I had to let you know, before anything happened. To warn you. They don’t know yet, but they will. I’ve delayed my reports to buy you time, to help get this to you before you go to the Glowing Sea.”_

It was why she had been at the final checkpoint. To get this to him. Otherwise, she’d never have had the chance.

The Paladin always knew Haylen to be incredibly smart.

He folded his hands in front of him, staring blankly as the words washed over him a second time.

_“By the time you get this, they will know. I… I don’t know how to explain this. It’s nearly impossible to wrap my head around….”_

Danse understood that all too well in this moment. It was nearly impossible for him too.

_“I compared the data compiled from the historical records of the BioScience division and ran them against our own records. I never expected your name to come up. I just… I just stared at it, sir. The DNA match. It… It was conclusive with records of missing synths from the Institute.”_

Another pause. The voice that returned was quiet, sad. Defeated.

_“I ran it six times. I can’t say if the data is correct, or just a horrible mistake. It was so heavily encrypted... But… the data was extensive. For it to have been an error, the likelihood is tens of millions to one. Your DNA sequence matched up perfectly, completely perfectly, with an Institute designated synth by the classification of M7-97. I just… I don’t know what to do, sir.”_

Emotion touched her voice. A clearing of the throat. A hardening of tone.

_“So I’m warning you. I don’t know what Proctor Quinlinn or Elder Maxson will do with this information, but I could guess as to what. I have bought you as much time as I can. I only hope it’s enough. Stay safe, sir. Please.”_

A click announced the conclusion of the holotape.

Silence once more hung heavily in the air around him as the Paladin’s mind raced behind the frustration crippling his features.

Him? A _synth_?

It couldn’t be. He never… It never felt like he wasn’t human.His memories were all clear of his past. His life growing up alone in Rachet City selling scrap to make a living as a child and young boy. To the arrival of the Brotherhood of Steel, their inspirational words moving him to join their purpose and ranks. A lowly recruit. No experience. No real idea of what he had signed up for exactly. But it had given him purpose. Meaning. Created a structured life in which he thrived. In which he had built a family amidst it all. All those people. All those emotions. Training and hard work. It couldn't be just a memory. Everything was clear. There were no voids in his recollection of the world.

It didn't make sense.

He bled. He’d broken bones. There was no metal, no wiring. It was wrong. _The data. It must be wrong. He wasn’t a synth  
_

But... what if it was true? He rubbed his face slightly with an internal groan as pieces of his world felt like they were tumbling down through his mind and heart in destruction. What if he truly was a synth, a biomechanical creation of the Institute? Designed? Created in a lab? Reed had told him what she had seen of the Insitute, of the creations they had worked so hard to rend from their science and bioengineering. To create structures not unlike the human form. A mockery of the human form. A game of science gone too far. Scientists that thought of themselves as gods, instilling a fake body with a fake mind. Crafting flesh and muscle and blood onto their programmed creations. Creations like... like him? Suddenly he felt uncomfortable in his own skin. Questioned it. Was he truly breathing, or was it simply the act of a process running internally that flexed and released the diaphram of his chest? What were his thoughts, a designation of programming, algorhytms and pre-determined behavior responses?

It wasn’t often that the Paladin felt panick as he did in that moment. Lost to the idea that he was not who he had always thought he was. How he felt had never seemed anything other than human. However, in the low light of the bunker, his world was rapidly crashing around him. A heart raced within his chest. A human chest, or synth? Did he even have a heart if he was a synth? Was it just a pump, or was it a type of flesh not unlike the skin that he possessed?

How could he bleed if he was a machine?

No.

_No._

_It couldn’t be._

But there it was. All there. If it hadn’t been for Haylen...

Realization washed over him after nearly a three-quarters of an hour as he sat, lost within his mind and thoughts in the vacant facility. He drew a deep breath, feeling a half-calm drift over him. Exhaustion, perhaps. A maddened kind of acceptance, maybe. DNA couldn’t lie. History, memories, those things could be false, but a person’s DNA created every part of them. It had matched no others on records. None but him. Haylen was an incredible Scribe. There was no reason she would lie about this. No reason she wouldn’t have checked her own research again and again to verify the truth. He had seen her in action. Trusted her on more missions than he could recall. If she had gone to such lengths so as to ensure the truth of the data, of delaying her reports, of buying him time while risking her own position within the Brotherhood to do so, then there was no question she considered it truth. Haylen's abilities could only be bested by Proctor Quinlinn, and even then both boasted their own specific specialties.

The Paladin swallowed heavily against the constricting lump in his throat with difficulty. Mouth dry. Emotion twisted so heavily in his chest that he could scarcely consider looking at his next step. Always there was a next step. But here, for this? What could possibly be the next step?

Return to the Prydwen to… _what?_ Argue his truth? Convince them he was not a synth? That the data must be wrong?

If it wasn’t, they would execute him on the spot.

A darkness covered his features.

 _Maybe_ … maybe that would be the most honorable way. He paused, considering it. _It would be the right thing to do, wouldn't it?_

Everything in his life he had done for the Brotherhood. For the success of their missions within the Commonwealth and across the wastelands. To accomplish the common goal within his ranks of bettering the world from those that would corrupt it and take it from those still fighting for a better tomorrow.

With one single holotape it had all been ripped from his grasp. His entire identity. His life. _Everything._

He closed his eyes against the internal struggle, features taught with mental grief.

_What of Reed?_

It hit him like a bolt of lightning. _What of her?_

What would happen to her? Would they cast her in the same light as he? A traitor? Would they consider her in league with him, or would they simply remove her from the situation and put her on a different assignment? There were no secrets amongst the Brotherhood. All would know about him soon enough. Even her.

He took a ragged breath.

They would be here soon, the extraction team. If they knew, they would be forced to act according to orders.

He stood up, a tremble in his legs. He wasn't even really sure what he would do next.

_It was never wise to make decisions in the heat of emotion._

A hand touched the release of his Power suit. Like a mechanical bat, it unfurled behind him with several groans of servos and hinges, allowing him to exit the equipment without issue. _His equipment._ Years of service and dedication. All of it washed away. All of it meaningless. He grit his teeth against it all. Anger, despair, frustration, grief, all at once. It raged and battled within him like an unquenchable radstorm. To feel such anger and grief. To feel so utterly helpless to change it. It was infuriating. So why did his eyes sting if it was anger he felt?

Because it felt like betrayal.

His betrayal of the Brotherhood, or the Brotherhood's betrayal of him? He couldn't answer that. Not now.

Scarcely he could breathe against the lump in his throat and the tightness in his chest. An ache like none he had felt before. Deep, internal. An ache that threatened to scorch the soul.

_Did he even have a soul?_

Emotion caught his tongue, barely allowing any words against the thickness there.

“Come on, Rook,” the words were slow, distant. “We’d better get you outside.”

He took the holotape, kept his holotags and retained a portion of his gear.

The T-60 Power Armor stood vacant in the empty office.

There was no doubt they would come looking for him.

He’d best be gone before anyone saw him.


	13. Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Note: I reworked a bit at the end of the previous chapter to help with the flow. Guess that's what I get for trying to finish a chapter at 3am on a work day)

Each ridge of the pistol’s grip was etched into her palm as knuckles faded to white, fist clenching around the weapon as she became acutely aware of each passing second. There was no trembling of lip, no stinging of tears. Perhaps there might have been a year ago. A wrenching of emotions. Turmoil. Helplessness. Not anymore. A world could harden a person. Temper them in the flames of trials and hardship. To walk through those flames was to boast of strength gained from them when they reached the other side. To boast a deepened understanding of what matters were like in the here and now so that they might not catch a person in weakness a second time.

This was one of those moments.

The world both fell away and became hauntingly clear. Each detail within the pinpoint of her vision sharpening in heightened sense of adrenaline. Peripherals were somehow noted and lost all at the same time. A hunter did not fear they would be hunted. It was the focus of the kill that won battles.

Her focus shifted to him as she considered everything. All the words they had exchanged. Talk of truth, of purpose, of betterment of the world. Yet here and now, those words rang hollow in a way that could touch the soul. Rend a person from their morals, from their beliefs, from their entire life.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, the grip in her hand. A modified .45 pistol. The slide was smooth as satin thanks to Proctor Teagan's expertise. A fully loaded magazine sat heavily in the grip, each bullet placed there with her own fingertips. Each brass casing pressed into the spring-loaded feeder, each bullet a means to both an end and survival depending on which direction it traveled. Polished wood surrounded the grip, fit her hand. The gloss had worn off in some spots, revealing a lighter color amidst the cross-hatching. She’d been meaning to polish it. Never got around to it. Always too busy on missions.

Maybe now there wouldn’t be anymore missions. Not after all that. Not after all the miles.

The pistol didn’t shake, didn’t lift from where it sat within her grasp as arm trailed unthreateningly at her side.

Each pulse of her heart within her chest felt as if it may be her last. It clenched violently with each beat, racing faster than normal in the heat of the moment.

Still, there were no tears.

Duty. Purpose.

The promise to rid the Commonwealth of filth, of those that would corrupt it from within.

This situation was beyond any she had expected to face in this world. Heartache was not uncommon here. Everyone suffered in their own way. Yet this rendered her temporarily unable to move, unable to think. Fingertip pressed to the trigger guard in thought.

Green eyes looked up with such intensity that it would have rivaled the best Deathclaw.

Mentally, she wondered if she’d be able to kill him.

It should have been easy. A bullet to the head. She was fast with a pistol now. An excellent marksman. This was her best single-shot. Powerful. Even a chest or body shot would be cause for concern.

Still, the pistol didn’t snap to rise.

* * *

 

“That’s impossible,” she had said.

 _It was impossible_ , as far as she was concerned.

Elder Maxson had gone on to inform her of the situation with Paladin Danse. Of his identification of M7-97, a missing synth from the database of the Institute historical documentation that they had extracted only recently with the aid of Proctor Quinlan's decryption and Scribe Haylen's confirmation.

“To make matters worse, he’s gone AWOL. Disappeared without a trace,” the Elder had gone on to say. Reed had barely listened. “His sudden absence simply reinforces our conclusion that ‘M7-97’ and Paladin Danse are one in the same. as you can imagine, Knight, I’m finding it difficult to believe that he never confided in you and then swore you to secrecy.”

It was easy to feel the break inside. She felt it. The snap. To feel one’s self adapting to the world around them with such speed and clarity that it felt as if an entirely different person took over the soul for a time. The cold calm. It protected her from the hurt of this moment. Of the intensity of the situation. Grief and worry would be saved for later. Instead, she appeared startlingly collected, if somewhat angry about the politics of it all.

Author’s accusatory words did not stir her to indignation. Did not bring about a flustered response. As much as she was offended by the accusation, reeling with the information, she refused to let him see her squirm under the interrogation.

“You have some nerve,” she said in a cold and warning tone.

She hadn’t even realized she’d taken out her pistol. A flex of her fist made her realize it.

It hung loose at her side, grip tightened around the familiar weapon.

 _Force of habit when facing off with hostiles_ , she supposed.

Elder Maxson’s gaze did not retreat, but his tone took on a slightly duller edge, “Apparently I’ve misjudged you. Perhaps I am being too critical. Which means I’ve decided to take you at your word. However, that doesn’t absolve you of your duty to me and to that of the Brotherhood. Danse is a synth. He represents everything we hate… a monstrosity of technology. Our mission in the Commonwealth is clear. The Institute and its creations need to be destroyed in order to preserve our future.”

Reed was half listening as she stared at the metal hull around her in thought. Fingers flexed against the .45. _It would be so easy right now._

“… Which leaves me facing the most difficult order I’ve ever given. I’m ordering you to hunt down Danse and execute him.”

Green gaze came heavily up to meet that of her superior. There were no tears. No emotion of grief upon her features.

“Listen, I’m not blind to the fact that Danse was your mentor and this isn’t an easy burden to bear,” the Elder was still growling. “But if we’re to remain strong, we can’t afford to make exceptions… even when it means executing one of our own.”

 _Unless that exception is extracting a scientist that was working for the Institute to now work for the Brotherhood instead simply to arm the fold with an incredibly weapon. It never stopped Danse from being the legend amongst your ranks that he is. The success he’d gained in the name of the Brotherhood for the entirety of his life within the ranks._ It was nauseating to think of this justification of actions. Eyes narrowed slightly in consideration. A single bullet and it would be so easy. There were Knights were posted near the door, armed. But none could outrun a single shot. Arthur boasted no helmet. _It would be quick._

_But, would it change anything?_

She was but a pawn in their eyes.

Her finger moved to tuck beneath the guard, slowly slipping the pistol back into its holster.

“I’ll find him,” she said truthfully, words icy cold. Dangerous.

Elder Maxson continued to glower. It seemed as if his features may be stuck in that expression if he maintained it much longer. He folded his arms in apparent disapproval.

“And Knight, there’s a promotion for you riding on the results of these orders, so don’t disappoint me.”

A spiteful curse rested scarcely behind closed lips as she considered the repercusions of telling Aurthur to take the promotion and shove it into the depths of his inner core. Reed postured. Green eyes met his with unwavering intensity before she turned to make her way below deck for mission details with Proctor Quinlan. It was a slap in the face, all of it. A slandering of all the good Danse had done for the sake of the Brotherhood. A morbid game that she was being thrust into. A cold anger kept her emotions in check as her features hardened into an unwavering expression of purpose.

A promotion? To kill her mentor? Her senior officer?

It was a disgusting tactic of motivation. An insult to everyone involved.

_Fuck them._

If they were willing to use people for their own personal gains, then she would harbor no ill feelings about doing the same in return for now. Let them provide her intel on his location, his disappearance. Let them show her the data, the information that lead them to this conclusion.

It would all be intel she would use to locate her senior officer before they did.

* * *

Walking helped.

There was no question in Reed’s mind as to the most likely location to find Paladin Danse amongst the vastness of the Commonwealth. Several had come to mind, but one was remote enough to be enticing. Still, she had sent an encrypted message to Nick just in case he heard anything through the grapevine that was both Diamond City, Good Neighbor or the Railroad. It was always good to have backup intel feeding in at all times. In case the Paladin had made his way elsewhere instead, or that her hunch proved to be the incorrect one.

Walking had given her some much needed solitude after the recycled air aboard the Prydwen. Its smell once familiar, once reminding her of returning to the company of those around her that could be called family by now. Reminded her of working on their Power suits together in the bays with assistance from Proctor Ingram. The last visit had turned that air sour to her mind. Urge to flee nearly causing her to sprint in departure.

Open air, the stretching road as it lay broken across the expanse of the greater Boston area without any one clear direction. Time to breathe. Time to analyze it all. To let the anger and frustration of the way it was dealt with aboard the Prydwen fall away until she was once more herself. Vault dweller. Gladen Reed. Field agent. Settlement relations director. Eliminator of feral ghouls in a variety of forms. Her true self. Who she was in this time and place. Kind. Good. Not an executioner of soldiers.

Each step crunched gently beneath her feet as the gravel and broken rock shifted with her passing weight.

It gave her time to think on matters, on what the next step was. There was always the ‘ideal’ plan, the plan a person could create in their head for how they would want a situation to resolve. Not everything always went as ideally as possible, however. There were always unaccountable variables.

A soft frown touched her features.

_Had he known?_

A deep part of herself thought he must not have, wanted to believe that was the case.

_Would he be hostile towards her?_

That was a true unknown. Part of her hoped… hoped that they could talk.

An idle hand checked the magazine of her pistol, even though she knew it was at full capacity. It had been compulsively checked only a half hour ago.

So much was left to the unknown with this mission. _Her_ mission. Not the Brotherhood’s mission. This was hers and hers alone. She was point. She had the intel. She was her own back-up. No one else would be allowed to interfere.

* * *

 

It was night as Gladen Reed approached the base of operations known as Listening Post Bravo, secluded to the Northern wilderness of the Commonwealth. A small outpost they had shared after their dealings within the run-down town of Salem. After they had gained a companion, a hatchling known as Rook, they had rested here for a time before extraction. It had been heavily fortified. Stocked with ammunition, food and various medical supplies. A security system had already been set-up prior to her first arrival at the scene all those months ago. It would have been an ideal place to fall-back to if the need were to ever arrive.

In the near-dark of the dusk-filled sky, it was easy to see that security protocols had been thrown into effect as spotlights and turrets whirled gently in passive attention in front of the doors with mild illumination.

Reed frowned.

It would be a shame to have to destroy such defense systems simply for the sake of getting inside. Yet, the concept of being shot before reaching the door was not quite an ideal situation either. Regretfully, the Vault dweller hoisted her .45 and began firing rounds as she put the equipment within her scope. It took scarcely a rounds per defense system to reduce the mechanical parts to a smoking mass of dysfunctional shrapnel.

Slowly, the woman approached the outpost. Anxiety began to stir within her. Unsure, nervous. Throat was dry with apprehension. It had seemed easier than this when she had been going through the steps in her head during her few days upon the road leading up to this moment. Now that it was here, it was that much more daunting. It was a strange kind of butterflies in the stomach feeling. Nervous, but not with excitement. Trepidation was more accurate. Perhaps even fear of what she would find inside.

A slightly shaking hand came to rest on the cold steel of the half thrown-open door, shoving it open further as she stepped within the concrete bunker. A simple set of fatigues graced her form. Leather and a patchwork of steel plating was the only armor she bore.

Lying upon the ground in a broken mess was a Protectron. It appeared to have fallen in a gruesome fate.

Still, it helped that this place seemed familiar. It had housed them briefly, given them shelter during their missions in the expanse of the Commonwealth. Even if only overnight. A secure building was always something to be grateful for in a world of unpredictability. It reminded her of those times.

Green gaze fell to the illuminated button that operated the elevator just before her. It glowed a soft yellow hue in the dim light of the entrance directing her forward. A single arrow pointing down, the black paint slightly chipped from over time. A pounding heart was one of the few things she felt as she stared at the button. Another detail she noticed was the slight chill in the air. The pistol in her grip. The bag of supplies slung over a shoulder and fastened securely. A dryness of her mouth. The anxiety as it rushed through her veins mixed with adrenaline for what may happen next.

Drawing a breath, she bravely tapped the button.

The elevator whirled to life.

He was here, she knew it. Believed it.

And now, as the elevator hummed to life, he knew someone was intending to pay him a visit.

* * *

“Shit,” she muttered to herself as a shoulder came to thud violently against a nearby wooden crate.

_What the fuck, Danse?_

Two Protectrons rattled off pre-recorded messages dutifully in the incandescent lighting of the basement as they moved into position. Bullets had rattled off to greet the visitor as soon as the doors had opened to reveal her. Fortunately, she had already been cautious and pressed back against the wall when it had happened. During a lull, she had thrown herself from the confines of the metal box of death into the room, opting for more cover at least.

Red laser flashes gave great cause for alarm at first. A fear that the Paladin had opened fire. However, it appeared to be a full operational laser turret mounted upon the far wall that was the source of all the commotion and light. It would send off several rapid-succession rounds before analyzing the status of its foe against the algarhythms of its programming. If it continued to note a hostile, it would resume and cycle accordingly.

A careful figure peaked out from behind cover and she began to unleash her own return fire at the nearest robot, taking aim at the joins and sensitive areas of its hardware. Protectrons were heavily durable and could sustain a great source of damage. That was why it was important to choose ones shots carefully. A piece of plating puckered beneath her bullets. A spray of sparks erupted from the machines central core as it appeared to spasm and fall, uttering nonsense as it failed.

The second Protectron had gotten rather close during the exchange, startling Reed as it rounded on her. With marked agility, the Vault dweller hopped over the cover in which she had taken and proceeded to slide to a green military crate opposite to her immediate area. Bullets traced her, but they were a scarce hair behind her due to the quickness of the maneuver.

Red laser rounds flashed. One caught an exposed limp, drawing a sharp yelp of pain from the intruder as she hunkered more fully behind cover. Luckily, it had been in her left arm rather than her right, sitting high and glancing over a shoulder into the upper arm itself. It was incredible how intensely it burned. Reed grit her teeth with a wince as she shook slightly in response.

“Fuck,” she spat before spinning to take aim at the second Protectron. A couple rounds came to land on the external plating of the defensive robot, but none came to bring about any significant damage.

More red flashes promising to deliver a secondary round of searing pain arched around the pinned-down recruit. Sweat beaded on her forehead ever so slightly. A mixture of many different things going on right now. First being that Danse’s security protocols were almost about to kill her if they got any closer. Second being the fact that perhaps Danse wasn’t up for talking if this was his response to the situation, as heart wrenching as that idea was. Third was the scorched wound along her shoulder and into the meat of her upper arm that was beginning to throb even amongst the adrenaline flooding her veins. And fourth, regret that maybe she should have worn Power Armor after all.

A replacement magazine tumbled from her grip, left arm trembling too significantly to be completely effective.

“Danse!” she decided to call out. It couldn’t hurt. Maybe he’d hear her. Maybe he’d turn off the defenses. Teeth gritted slightly as the options grew slim.

A second attempt managed to reload the magazine into her pistol with success. It clicked happily into place. The slide worked like it always did, smooth and without a hitch, loading the first bullet into place without a problem. Just as she came up from cover again, taking aim at the Protectron once more, it whirled to a halt. In the far end of the room, the laser turret also wound itself down into sleep mode.

“Reed?!” came a familiar voice in the chaos.

_Oh thank god!_

Relief flooded her system. He was still alive. They hadn’t found him yet. Rapidly she blinked away at the stinging in her eyes.

“Who else?” she said with a bitter laugh that lacked humor.

Cautiously the Knight stood up from behind the poor choice of cover, holstering her weapon for the moment as she purposely let down her guard. Legs were slightly unsteady from the rush of everything going on. Emotions, adrenaline. Right, and the laser wound on her arm. She’d probably need a Stimpak. _Eventually._

It was surprising to still see Paladin Danse operating without his Power armor when operating out in the field. He bore only the familiar orange and cream BOS issued military fatigues for operation within any set of power armor. Specifically padded. Altered for the user’s preferences. Still, it was the same Danse she had seen all those trips out into the Commonwealth, when aboard the Prydwen. The voice. His mannerisms. Everything was the same.

Had she expected to see him somehow transformed into something like Nick? It was still Danse, after all.

Internally, she shook her thoughts into place. She hadn’t been sure what to expect to find here.

He stood slightly armed, laser rifle in his hands, though not raised nor hostile. They had operated on enough missions together to understand one another’s body language, stance, ways of moving and engaging in battle. None of that was displayed here. Not at the moment, anyway.

“Are you… are you alright?” she asked tentatively, coming to stand only a few feet from him. “Haylen found me after I was briefed by Elder Maxson and Proctor Quinlan. Told me about the holotape. Asked me to find you, if I could. Although, I hadn’t needed any encouragement for that. But I… Are you okay?”

It felt awkward between them. Familiar, but awkward. Like when they were first getting to know one another one on one. Suppose that was partially true in this case. Only, this time, one of them was trying to find themselves.

Part of her wanted to rush into his embrace, to hold him, to tell him everything was going to be alright. Yet, she hesitated. Not out of fear, not out of disapproval. Simply out of a pause, a moment to see and be seen. It would have been forward to assume that matters between the two would simply return to how they were before just because she was here now. To assume that this hadn’t somehow affected him deeply. Her hesitation was respectful to that. To support him, even if that meant giving him space.

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted with a tightness in his words.

“… Why didn’t you tell me, Danse?” she asked softly. _It wouldn’t have changed anything._

He sighed and shook his head slightly as familiar brown eyes came up to meet her emerald gaze. “I didn’t know.”

It seemed so very strange to see the defeated expression upon his face as he spoke and stood in the bunker before her. To be ripped from ones home, ones whole life, and thrust into something so completely foreign with no clue on how to feel, what to think or how to proceed. Nobody could understand that better than the Vault dweller. She could see it in him, the same confusion and despair she had felt. The helplessness. Reed half reached out as if to touch those features, to ease the uncertainty there. She caught herself before she did and lowered her hand once more.

“Until Quinlan got that list decoded, I thought synths were the enemy,” he went on to say, eyes briefly casting downward as if searching for the words. “I never expected to hear that I was one of them. If it wasn’t for Haylen, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

Reed would have to thank Haylen again when this was all through.

“So, what are your orders?” his tone was brief, to the point, snapping back into old mannerisms. “Does Maxson even want me alive?”

A cold chill ran through her body at the mention of the Elder. Her tone took on a similar coolness in her honesty, “No, but I’m hoping there’s a way out.”

Danse scoffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Look, I’m not blind to the fact that this must be difficult for you,” his tone had begun to grow slightly hardened, as if gathering resolve. “I wish Maxson had sent someone else. But that doesn’t change a thing. I’m a synth, which means I need to be destroyed. If you disobey your orders, you’re not only betraying Maxson, you’re betraying the Brotherhood of Steel and everything it stands for.”

_Bullshit._

“You say destroyed like its some simple task,” she said in a heartfelt way. _Like it would be as easy as gunning down a turret._

Danse looked at her for a moment before turning to address the wall instead. Shoulders squared, rounding forward slightly as if bearing a heavy weight. Strong jaw was covered in the familiar facial hair and stubble. A roughness to his features that spoke of his many miles traveled. Lines etched deeply as emotion was strewn across those features now.

“Synths can’t be trusted. Machines were never meant to make their own decisions, they need to be controlled. Technology that’s run amok is what brought the entire world to its knees and humanity to the brink of extinction.”

Brown eyes were lost for a moment as he closed his eyes, brows furrowing slightly. He’d had time to give this some thought, to cool from the reaction of the moment and analyze what the next step would be in his path. In this mission. Running as he did had been foolish, merely reaffirming their beliefs about him. There was no wonder her orders had been to execute instead of capture.

“I need to be the example, not the exception,” he announced confidently.

A ripple of emotion raked violently through her body as she stood still within the confines of the basement. A cold chill. A fear. Mind fought the idea of breaking against the despair of the situation. Her resolve would have to remain strong if she were to get through to him. She couldn’t stand to watch losing someone like that again.

“Danse… The empathy that you’re showing me… It’s a human emotion,” the words betrayed only the slightest tremor as she spoke.

He interrupted her. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’ve made my decision.”

Frustrated tears were beginning to sting idly at the Vault dweller’s eyes. _He didn’t get to make that decision. Not like that._

“I’m ready to accept the consequences of my true identity. Maxson’s ordered you to execute me, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand in your way.”

“You’d give up that easily?” she asked softly. _Give up on her that easily?_

The expression that met her gaze was hardened, final. “I’ve made my decision,” he repeated with emphasis.

To deny that it was difficult was foolish. The senior soldier hadn’t expected to be met with the face of his lover and companion as his executioner. A model soldier, she was tactically fit for the task. An internal understanding of the target, moreso than they likely realized aboard the Prydwen. Skilled in both the acquisition of intel and the ability to perform complicated tasks with remarkable efficiency. Yet, it was heartbreaking to speak the cold words to her, to try and push her away. To soften the blow. To make it his choice instead of hers.

Had he known it would be her, he would have concluded this choice on his own after leaving the Glowing Sea.

Part of him twisted with regret. _It was not how matters were supposed to end between them._

They were supposed to have done more together, to continue with missions in the field until the Commonwealth was remedied from its perils. All the plans to aid the settlements. To rouse together the banding of the people to resolve differences. To further the technological advancements within the Brotherhood through exploration and utilize those tools of discovery to rebuild humanity. To bring about the good she always professed was still there. The good she had herself shown him in the people through her actions. Beliefs that he himself carried in his own way.

It hurt him more than he would admit to be in this moment, to see the pain in her eyes.

An odd sensation rolled through him as a pistol was drawn upon him. Her hand upon the grip, finger hovering over the trigger guard. .45. A weapon of choice. Accurate, powerful. Enough to make a clean kill. Quick. Painless.

Down that barrel was death. His death, waiting to be unleashed. Cleansed from the world. As much as he had proclaimed it out loud, it felt suddenly strange to be facing the idea of meeting his end. A shiver of realization crept down his spine. It was his fortitude and resolve that kept his instincts from responding to the threat. To accept it. To stand and watch as the life would be wrenched from his bioengineered carcass before he even heard the sound.

Just as quickly as it had been drawn on him, it was gone.

A magazine hit the floor with a clang as she released it from the weapon. Pulling the slide, she ejected the chambered round with a ping that bounced to the concrete. A sharp toss sent the weapon skipping across the floor harmlessly.

“No,” she said, tone firm. “I won’t do it, Danse.”

_It had been so close. A moment away._

He stared at her with eyebrows raised, eyes slightly widened.

_It hadn’t been what he expected._

“I can’t believe you’d risk your life just to keep me alive,” he said with indignation and surprise. It surprised him most of all to feel… _relief._

“ _Why_ … why would you do that for me?”

“Maxon’s wrong,” she said with slightly more venom than she’d intended. A deep breath calmed her voice. “You’re the proof that Maxson’s assumptions about the world are not entirely true. They’re skewed, warped into some duty to cleanse the world. You’re a synth, but everything you’ve done has been for the good of mankind. In the name of the Brotherhood. Defending those who could not defend themselves. How can you say that you are an abomination when everything about you tells a different story of duty and honor and purpose?

“Do you truly believe that everything you’ve done up until now has been for nothing, simply because of a piece of intel? That somehow it changes who you are? Takes away the credit of what you’ve accomplished? So what if you’re a synth, Danse? It changes nothing.”

“It changes everything,” he said suddenly, loudly. “That I’ve spent my entire life… or at least what I perceive as my life… following a plan to shape my own future. That plan doesn’t matter now. It’s not even a possibility. To continue to do what I excel at, what I grew up knowing. Everything about the Brotherhood. The people. My friends, people I consider as close as family. All taken away. I feel lost… almost like I exist without a purpose now.”

Danse’s jaw flexed slightly as he gritted his teeth, brows knitting together as he glanced away. As if seeking to put to words the chaos of his mind. A calloused hand roughly set down his laser rifle to rest against a nearby shelving unit as he ripped the BOS hood off of his head and tossed it angrily to the side. Strong fingers raked back through his black tresses as they fell free of the confines of the hood, laying in a haphazad way. He sighed in frustration as he looked once more to his recruit.

“For the first time since that moment I signed up with the Brotherhood, I don’t have all the answers, Reed,” his words were strong, powerful, but lacked hostility. They were simply emotional words that flowed without check. “I don’t have a plan. And it scares the hell out of me”

She exhaled softly through her nose as she watched her senior officer twist in the wind, unsure of where his next step would take him. Unsure if there was even a next step. Frightened, alone.

Green eyes observed an object across the room as she spoke, “You were the one that helped me when I woke up in this world, Danse. Alone. Afraid. Everything ripped from me. My entire family… lost. Everything I’d known. My identity. Everything.” Her tone was soft, gentle. Almost like someone telling a story. “Yet you taught me how to exist out here. I didn’t plan to fall out of a cryotube 200 years after the bombs fell. To have to re-learn everything about how to live out here. How to survive. It wasn’t easy. Some days I struggled to set one foot in front of the other. But, you helped me keep going. Even after everything.”

He gave thought to the fact that perhaps he shared the company with one of the very few people who might possibly understand how he felt in this moment in all of the Commonwealth. Someone who had been lost herself. Thrust into a world of the unknown and come out for the stronger. He’d never questioned her ability.

Weight of emotion continued to rest upon his shoulders and heart.

“Yet you’ve been able to roll with every punch that’s been thrown at you,” he pressed. “Don’t you understand? Everything I had, everything I knew is gone. In the span of a few hours, my identiy was ripped from me and my world turned upside-down. At least what you had was something tangible… something real. Your husband, your son… they were living, breathing humans who loved you and cared for you.

“Those sons of bitches who created me couldn’t even be bothered to implant memories of having siblings or parents,” his voice rose, hands gesturing into the air. “I don’t even know how much of my own past is artificial and how much is real. Can you even imagine that? I started out as nothing, and I’ve ended up as nothing… and I don’t know what the hell to do about it!”

He stormed off briefly then, pacing slightly as emotion threatened to overcome the better of his senses. Pacing to try and ease the anxiety as it traced through his veins and mind. Urging him to run, to turn himself in, to finish it himself. To do everything, and to do nothing. It was maddening. How could one even determine what thoughts made sense amidst the chaos? Wasn’t he just a machine? How could a machine feel so much anguish? So much pain over losing an identity that was never his own to begin with?

Rook watched from the broken doorway that lead into a makeshift entrance to a rear room, lounging upon a pile of rubble as the scene played out before him, pale eyes blinking in the low light. The Deathclaw made no noises as he watched with mild alert.

“I’m sorry, Danse,” she said with heartfelt emotion. “You’re right. I can’t understand everything you must be going through. That kind of loss... That kind of question for your identity within yourself. To me, you’ve always been Danse. Someone who took the time to put a little faith into a wanderer that came into your command post in Cambridge. To give me a purpose. It wasn’t the actions of the Brotherhood that did that. It was you.

“Nothing has changed about you, even if it feels like it has. You are still the Danse I know. Tough. Hard sometimes. But honest. Caring. You mean well and look out for everyone around you. You take calculated risks in the field every day. Risk your life to get the mission done. Do you think that knowing you’re different suddenly makes you a different person? That somehow you can’t be who you were now because of it?

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she said, tone honest and raw. “I don’t know how to make this better. I don’t know how to fix this. But one thing I do know is that killing you isn’t the answer any more than killing Rook would be the answer to the Deathclaws throughout the Commonwealth.”

Pacing footsteps came to cease upon the stained grey floor. A troubled brown gaze lifted from thoughts to meet her steady green eyes held within the familiar features he had come to grow so fond of gazing upon.

_She was right._

It gave him pause in his chaotic thoughts.

“Maybe I’m not technology that’s gone out of control,” he whispered seemingly to himself. “I guess I never considered that this wasn’t the end. That perhaps my life’s just starting over, and I need to come to terms with everything I’ve lost.”

“Whatever you decide, Danse, I want you to know that I will always have your back,” Reed’s voice was still soft, respectful.

His features darkened slightly as his mind touched on matters of his companion. Darkening perhaps in a similar way as one would to build a wall between two people out of defense.

“You said, back aboard the Prydwen,” he began carefully, “that you… loved me. Then you came after me once hearing of my true identity. That you stand before me now and deny me an honorable death and argue my humanity. But how could you be in love with… a machine? After all this?”

A grip clutched her heart as if in a fist. She swallowed with difficulty.

“You’re not a machine, Danse,” the words were thick with emotion. “In fact, you’re more human than most people could ever hope to be. Nothing has changed in the way I feel about you. Those words… Danse, I do still love you. If you have to question that then maybe I haven’t made that clear enough by now. Synth or not. You are still the man that gives me reason to wake up each day.

“When I heard that you had disappeared, that Elder Maxson ordered me to destroy you like… like some criminal, my heart broke,” there was pain in her words. _She wouldn’t tell him that she had seriously considered shooting the Elder in response._ “I wanted to be the first to find you, to be the one to help you make sense of it all. And maybe... maybe it’ll never make sense. Not all of it. But parts of it will. Parts that you know to be true. Who you are. The person I met in Cambridge. The one that saved my life more than a few times. The one I’ve returned the favor with on a few occasions. Don’t you understand? It doesn’t matter who built you. What matters is what you’ve done with your life out here after that.”

“You don’t know how much it means to me to hear you say that,” Danse replied, the edge and ire of his voice lost in a lull of ease.

“Look I… I’m not going to lie to you. You’re going to have to be patient with me,” he continued after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck as if a weight had been partially lifted. The looks he stole her way seemed almost unsure. “Coming to terms with these… well, human feelings is going to be a very difficult journey. I don’t know where it’s going to lead me. I care about… I mean… love you in as much a sense as I can express. I don’t know if it’s an anomaly in my programming, or if what I’m feeling is something more. I just… I don’t have all the answers yet. But, I appreciate having you by my side more than you may know, Reed. Words fail to describe what I feel inside when I'm with you.”

He looked tired. It took a lot to run down a veteran soldier like the Paladin before her. For him to actually appear worn down spoke of the true depth of his exhaustion. There was no doubt most of it must have been fatigue of a mental and emotional level.

It took only a few strides to cross the distance between them. A delicate hand reached out to rest softly upon his large shoulder as if silently asking permission to intrude on his thoughts. When he did not move to turn, did not move to run and brown eyes came to find hers, she stepped close and wrapped her arms around the familiar embrace of his form. His warmth. The smell of his skin. The way she had to stand up ever so slightly on the balls of her feet in order to wrap her arms over each shoulder. It was familiar. An embrace they had shared many a time throughout their journeys together across the expanse of the Commonwealth.

At first he was ridged, stiff. He was hesitant. He seemed unsure.

“You won’t break me,” she whispered softly.

The resistance fell away. The walls he had built around himself broke. Strong arms came to wrap tightly around her smaller form as he drew her close. Finding comfort there. Reassurance in her acceptance. Even if part of him was still prone to disbelief that she could ever truly love him, a larger part of him felt compelled to ignore the tiny voice of insecurity and take a moment to realize that perhaps he could work through this after all. In a way. His own way. Turmoil still stirred within him at the idea of being unable to ever return to the Brotherhood, but that wound was raw. It still ached. He would muster through the pain as he always did.


	14. Confrontation

Reed unzipped her fatigues after removing a few leather plated pieces that served as her protection and rolled down the fabric around her shoulder. The skin was raw, angry. Scorched in a few spots. Adrenaline having drained from her system long ago, there was little wonder why she could distinctly feel her hot pulse with each beat flare into that area angrily. A hole sunk from the edge of her shoulder and out the front of her arm. The heat had cauterized it, burning unrelentingly. No wonder it had been so difficult to reload the magazine with compromised dexterity.

Plus, it hurt like a _bitch._

A simple white undershirt was donned beneath the fatigues.

“You should have been more careful,” Danse said in a surprisingly mild tone. Typically the Paladin was fond of a more firm approach when it came to education regarding self-preservation. However, here and now, the edge was lost to his words.

“I hadn’t anticipated you’d have such high levels of defensive measures for a smaller building like this,” she replied. She watched her companion set himself down beside her on the crate. A wince creased heavily across her soft features as a clean rag soaked with antiseptic began to rub away at the scorched flesh in an attempt to remove any that was too badly damaged. A hole in the arm could cause problems with infections out here.

“And I had anticipated that it would have been someone else sent to find me,” he responded evenly, glancing up from his work to quirk a brow at her. _She did need to be more careful._ Yet, he didn’t press it any further.

“I’ll need to give you my holotags,” he said, voice tired but words returning to their once familiar tone. The deep voice. The slight gravel to the words. “Otherwise Maxson will never stop hunting for me even if you claim otherwise. He’ll assume you failed and send others.”

The Knight’s brows furrowed, both at the wound cleaning and the idea of returning.

“I’m not sure I want to go back,” she admitted. A wince crossed her brow at a tender spot.

“I need you to,” he continued, tone nearly bridging that which might have sounded like an order. Not an order. _A request._ “If you don’t, they’ll know something happened here between us. Assume that either you died in the encounter, or aided in my escape. No matter what, they’ll send someone else instead. If you are going to insist I keep on living, then the only way to do that is to see me dead in the eyes of the Brotherhood.”

The words were said logically, but deep down, they were dark words. It would be the final step of this particular mission for his recruit, and for him. To either rise to the occasion, do as logic dictated amidst the ranks or they would both be hunted until their ultimate demise. If it was just him, it made sense. Reed had done nothing wrong, however. There was no need for them to go after her.

Then again, he had done nothing wrong either.

His features were still drawn as mind continued to wander from thought to thought.

The hiss and pinch of a Stimpak completed the tending of her arm. Over the next few hours, the flesh and skin would knit and be nearly as good as new. A day or two and it would have nothing to show for the encounter. It had not been terribly extensive despite being completely through a few muscles. No massive trauma. No organs, no stemming of blood loss. It would heal just fine.

“Will you stay here, then?” she asked in hesitant curiosity, shrugging her fatigues back into place.

“No,” he said honestly. “I was thinking… maybe I should head to the border. Further out of Brotherhood territory. Further out where synths aren’t as frowned upon as they are here. Maybe I can find some use out there, something to keep me busy. Some time to think.”

Reed couldn’t help but feel a moment of selfishness. A desire to ask him to stay here, to hide amongst the Commonwealth while she completed her tasks for the Brotherhood. Maybe if the Institute was destroyed, if conclusion was found there, she would be able to vacate the ranks and continue on with him into the unknown. The Prydwen was merely a ship. The police station merely an outpost. Neither of those were home if they would never again hold the company of her companion.

Yet, to ask him to stay was truly selfish. It was needlessly reckless. Risky. A vastly greater chance of being identified by the patrolling groups of BOS soldiers that ventured out to complete recon missions and secure tactical points throughout the greater Common. It would be better for him to leave. To go further. To stay one step ahead.

To be alive and far away was better than to be near and dead.

It was a decision neither of them wanted.

A warm tear managed to slip past her defenses as she wiped it away with the back of her hand. The Knight drew a ragged breath.

“Yeah,” she agreed after some moments had passed. _It made sense._ “I just… if you leave, how can I find you again?”

Michael smiled the slightest half-smile. A glancing touch on his features. Tired. Drained. “I’ll find a way to keep tabs on you, I’m sure.”

Intel and recon was his specialty, after all.

* * *

“Before you leave, stop at Sanctuary,” she said in earnest as the familiar male figure she was speaking to stepped from the elevator, followed uncomfortably by the Deathclaw Rook. She’d gone up first, waiting for them. The defenses of this facility were currently out of commission thanks to a grand entrance just an hour ago. “I have a few spare sets of Power Armor that we’ve been accumulating over time. You shouldn’t be traveling without one. Maybe the X-01. It still needs plating for the right leg, but that shouldn’t be terribly hard to track down in the right circles. Sturges is fantastic for finding just what we need. Load with previsions before you go too. And… whatever else you need. Ammunition. Med-gear. Whatever you find.”

If he had to leave, then the least he could do was leave with an advantage. To not get himself killed. It was easier to give thought to preparation instead of the fact he was leaving. A fact that threatened to overtake her slim grasp of resolve that she had left.

“I will,” Michael said in his familiar authoritative tone. _A tone that would soon be missing from her ears._ “Are you…  going to be okay with this?”

“No,” Gladen said quickly, then shook her head as she picked up a box of rounds from a nearby shelf and stuffed them into her storage bag. She sighed and turned to him, “I’m not okay with this because it’s not right. The idea of you going away makes the most sense in the world. It doesn’t mean I have to like it, though. I can’t pretend this isn’t painful.”

“I know,” his voice was understanding. He felt similarly pained at everything that was going on. He was used to being in control. _But now…_

A voice interrupted the landscape as the duo exited the compound, snapping both parties out of their emotional haze and into a heightened sense of alert.

“How dare you betray the Brotherhood!”

It was Elder Maxson who stood addressing them in the darkness, illuminated scarcely by the spotlight of a nearby vertibird.

Reed’s heart sank as her gaze fell upon him. Just briefly. Only briefly. The feeling of despair, of worry, of defeat. _They had followed her,_ she realized. Tracked their whereabouts to this location. It wasn’t worry that began to warm her veins, however. Sharpen her senses. Teeth ground gently as she gritted in frustration at all of this political bullshit. Of the black and white view the Elder had of the world. Of his warped sense of purpose. Unyielding, unadapting to the world around them. Seeking to grasp the world in a fist and make it work yet again. But, that was not how to change the world. Ruling with an iron fist would only accomplish so much before people began to stop fearing it. One had to learn to work with the world and its flaws, rather than seek to destroy anything different than they. _Why couldn't he have just let them leave...?_

It was why she stood without a tremble now. Stood solid in her resolve.

“It’s not her fault, it’s mine,” she heard Danse briefly utter in an attempt to ease the sudden tension.

That was not the case. It wasn’t Danse’s fault at all. _None of this was his fault._

Without question, she stepped in front of her mentor, her companion, senior officer and lover, placing herself directly between the two. Only this time the temptation to shoot the Elder was stronger than before. Maxson meant well in the world, but his passion was flawed. He was, after all, human. Humans were inherently flawed. A high-ranking position did not erase that fact from existing. Each of them standing in this circle, synth and human alike, all possessed flaws. To be blind to that was to view the cup of the world as forever half-empty.

“I’ll deal with—“ Maxson was pointing angrily at his previously appointed officer.

Reed interrupted. “No, it wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I claim responsibility for this.”

“Reed, what are you—“ Danse tried to press.

“No,” she said firmly and with an unquestioning tone. This was her mission. She was on point.

“Knight,” Elder Maxson growled in the half-light. His features were twisted into an expression that foretold a seething rage that bubbled beneath the surface. An anger, a frustration, held scarcely in check. If only he knew that he was not the only one so willing to pull a trigger. “Why has this… this thing not been destroyed?!”

“He’s still alive because you’re wrong about him,” she said calmly, annunciating her words with deliberate care.

“’Him’?! Danse isn’t a man. It’s a machine… an automaton created by the Institute,” Arthur raged, turning abruptly before spinning back to address her once more. The bottom of his brown leather bomber jacket flipped slightly with the inertia. He was pointing dramatically. “It wasn’t born from the womb of a loving mother, it was grown within the cold confines of a laboratory. Flesh is flesh. Machine is machine. The two were never meant to intertwine. By attempting to play God, the Institute has taken the sanctity of human life and corrupted it beyond measure!”

“After all I’ve done for the Brotherhood… all the blood I’ve spilled in our name, how can you say that about me?” Danse spoke up suddenly then, voice bold and interrupting. It was easy to hear the pain in his voice at Elder Maxson’s words. At least, Reed could hear it, feel it. It merely fueled her own resolve in the situation.

“You’re the physical embodiment of what we hate most. Technology that’s gone too far,” Elder Maxson spat. “Look around you, Danse. Look at the scorched earth and the bones that litter the wasteland. Millions… perhaps even billions, died because science outpaced man’s restraint.”

“It wasn’t technology,” Reed practically yelled. “Technology could not act alone. A nuke does not sit in wait for a likely target. A rifle does not gun down the innocent. People do. People with too much power. People who seek to control the world. Don’t you see?! You’re going after the creation of something you hate, people that have run amok. But how does ending Danse’s life change anything about what’s going on inside the Institute? Your fight is there, with them! Not here. Not with the result of that place. Don’t you see?!”

“You know nothing of this world!” Elder Maxson turned with a scowl of such venom it may have sent lesser persons looking to admire their boots rather than face it. He was met with a steely gaze. It caught him off-guard. “This is not your time, not your place. You did not grow up here. You did not have to carve a life amidst the wasteland. You do not get to come and tell me how life works out here. How can you trust a machine that thinks it’s alive? A machine that’s had its mind erased, its thoughts programmed… its very soul manufactured. Those ethics that it’s striving to champion aren’t even its own. They were artificially inserted in an attempt to have it blend into society.”

“It’s true,” Danse’s voice redirected the conversation from its heated debate. “I was built within the confines of a laboratory, and some of my memories aren’t my own. But when I saw my brothers dying at my feet, I felt sorrow. When I defeated an enemy of the Brotherhood, I felt pride. And when I heard your speech about saving the Commonwealth… I felt hope. Don’t you understand? I thought I was human, Arthur.

“From the moment I was taken in by the Brotherhood, I’ve done absolutely nothing to betray your trust and I never will.”

Maxson scoffed, “It’s too late for that now. The Institute has foolishly chosen to grant you life. You simply should not exist. I don’t intend to debate this any longer. My orders stand.”

It was a strange situation that faced the Vault dweller now. All the possibilities, all the options that lay before them. None of them were what she would have chosen. To obey her orders would have been to sentence Danse to death. To disobey would give cause for Maxson to complete the task himself. To kill Maxson where he stood would not only bring the wrath of the Brotherhood upon them, but it would also garner disapproval from Danse. Maxson was passionate, but Danse had worked alongside him so long. No doubt such a kneejerk reaction would have solved little in the long run. As much as the Brotherhood had betrayed them, it was clear that the attachment the veteran had to the fold was forged of steel. To seek such a way out would have been to risk the ire of her companion.

Each second felt like a lifetime.

“It’s all right. We did our best,” the familiar deep voice soothed from behind her. _Acceptance._ “You convinced me that I was wrong to be ashamed of my true identity and I thank you for it. Whatever you decide, know that I’m going to my grave with no anger and no regrets.”

“Touching,” Maxson nearly spat.

It tweaked Reed’s resolve.

Scarcely could she recall even thinking of raising her weapon, to hold the Elder in her sights. Green eyes gazed as the glowing reticle of the weapon’s sight came to circle the twisted face of the Brotherhood’s leader with promise to mind ones words. It had snapped into position without so much as a pause.

 _Fortune favoured the bold_.

“After all the sacrafices I’ve made and all the battles I’ve fought for the Brotherhood, you need to listen to me. You owe me that much,” she said slowly, darkly. Warning him that to press further of his own rantings was a poor choice.

The elder’s deep blue eyes took in the full measure of her weapon, her stance, her boldness in drawing a weapon upon the highest ranking officer this side of the Commonwealth. He did not retreat. “Very well, I’m listening.”

“Whether he’s human or not, Danse saved the lives of countless Brotherhood soldiers. Now it’s time you saved his,” the Knight responded evenly. "Not once had he betrayed you. Not once had he sought to aid any other faction outside the Brotherhood. You hunt him because of his mere existance, discrediting everything that had transpired before it. Yet how many nights had he worked around the clock on duty? Forged and cut out outposts throughout the Commonwealth in the name of the Brotherhood? Provided you with intel that brought forth a victory in the name of the fold? Yet despite that, you wish him executed simply because of his past. A past that never once affected his ability to succeed. Think of what you will of the Institute and its corrupted endeavors. But do not neglect the fact that without Danse, your missions would have seen failure."

Elder Maxson stared heavily for a moment, obviously calculating his options. It was a hard world out there and the Knight had faced trials above and beyond what anyone may have expected from a two century year old Vault dweller. Yet the world had taught her some lessons more adequately than others. That out here, one had to stand their ground. To exist was to know where one stood in their morals and truth. And what a person was willing to do to live by those.

“You’re a stubborn woman,” he concluded, no longer yelling. He had not forgotten the weapon drawn upon him in the darkness. “So. It appears we’ve arrived at an impasse.” He folded his arms with a squaring of his shoulders. _Perhaps he’d underestimated the Knight after all._ “Allowing Danse to live undermines everything the Brotherhood stands for, yet you insist that he remains alive. Which leaves me with only a single alternative.

“Danse. As far as I’m concerned, you’re dead,” he said as he frowned angrily. “You were pursued and slain by this Brotherhood Knight and your remains were incinerated. From this day forward, you are forbidden to set foot on the Prydwen or speak to anyone from the Brotherhood of Steel. Should you choose to ignore me, know that you’ll be fired upon immediately. Do we understand each other?”

“I do,” the veteran soldier spoke up. “Thank you for believing in me, Arthur.”

“Don’t mistake my mercy for acceptance,” disgust once more dripped from the Elder’s words. “The only reason you’re still alive… is because of her.”

Maxson cast Danse one last harsh look before addressing the woman that stood before him. “I’m returning to the Prydwen, Knight. Take some time, say your goodbyes, and then I expect to see you there. We still have the Institute to deal with."

The Elder turned abruptly and strode briskly to the awaiting transport. Not even a glance was given to those he'd left behind.

* * *

Her arm lowered heavily as the Elder departed back to his awaiting vertibird. Dust stirred around them chaotically after a few moments as the mechanical marvel took once more to the skies above and disappeared out of sight. It felt as if her heart might leap clear from her chest as she regained her composure, each beat hurling the organ violently against her ribs in a way that could almost be heard. It raced. Adrenaline that had flooded her veins was slowly beginning to ease. The slightest tremble touched her limbs, though anyone would be hard-pressed to see it.

Silence reigned for a time between them.

“Thank you,” came the male voice that broke the void. “It took a lot of guts to stand up to Maxson like that.”

Reed’s resolve felt like it would crumble completely as the voice rolled over her senses. Relief that he was still alive. That what they had faced off against had ended without harm. It felt like she was torn in two. One part of her fighting to keep the anger, the motivation, the resolve against the injustice of this world. The other part wanting to give in, to stop being so strong for just a moment, to drop the weight on her shoulders even if just for a little bit. A rattling sigh fell from her lips.

“You were right,” she said evenly. “He doesn’t like to do the dirty work.”

The Knight nearly jumped as a hand touched her arm. He moved so quietly when out of his Power Armor. The touch was reassuring, questioning. An unspoken connection between the two after all the miles traveled together. Muscle memory returned the pistol in her grip to its holster before she turned into the embrace that was waiting for her in the arms of the strong veteran at her side. There were no words that could come to describe the emotions that rolled within her mind. Relief, anxiety, reassurance, comfort, fear. It was all mixed together into a mind-numbing whirling of thoughts. Of what to do next. Of wanting to both think of what may lay ahead while at the same time wanting nothing more than to remain here.

Reluctantly, she slowly pulled away from the embrace after several long moments had passed.

It was time to give consideration to their next step.

“I don’t think you’re entirely safe yet,” she said, clearing her throat slightly against the small lump that sat there.

Dark hair shifted slightly in the breeze as he nodded, “I am inclined to agree with you. Especially if they located us out here all this way.”

It felt as if someone were slowly inserting a knife into her stomach and twisting it slowly as the words came from her lips, “I think… I think you would be safer if you left on your own.”

It stung to see the brief shadow cross his features. The knife in her gut felt as if it were still twisting.

They both knew what the most logical option was.

Reed reached out, then, and touched the side of his face tenderly. Green eyes sought his gaze, as if perhaps she might be able to soften the hardship. “I don’t know if they’ll send somebody else. Maxson needs me right now, to get him what he wants inside the Institute. We both know that he is capable of sending someone else. Someone who won’t be so motivated to keep you alive. I can’t risk… knowing where you are. Being a liability for your safety. Michael, if anything were to happen, I…”

“It’s okay,” he said as a small reassuring smile graced his features for just a moment. He reached up and took the hand that touched his cheek, grasping it for a moment and giving it a slight squeeze. “I know. And it’s okay, Reed. We were given a greater chance, thanks to you. It is for the best that I disappear for now. Wait until matters with Maxson have calmed down. If you return without me, they will have less reason to pursue me. If you return without me, you will be safest as well.”

_It still didn’t make this any easier._

The words were on her lips. A protest. A defiance. A damning of Elder Maxson for his reaction and condemning of Danse despite years of service. Yet, there they stood, stuck in the midst of it all.

Finally, she nodded. “If it will keep you safest to be without me, if that’s what it takes, then I will do whatever I need to,” she said, voice betraying slightly with a tremble how painful this was. The idea of being alone again. The idea that, to keep him safe, he would be cast into the unknown. An incredible soldier. A veteran in the field. There was no doubt he was highly capable. Still, there was worry there. They were a team. It felt wrong to be making this choice.

Danse couldn’t help the feeling of pride that rose up within his chest, mixed amidst the other emotions he was currently experiencing. Proud that she was willing to put aside her emotions to accomplish what was needed for their success. It was why they worked so well as a team together. Still, the pit in his stomach was slightly nauseating. An anxiety that wouldn’t ease. By departing, each one increased their chances of survival. Yet, he would not be there to protect her. That sat poorly with him, despite the logical reasoning.

Each one was struggling, though there was no point in discussing it.

“Visit Sanctuary, before you leave,” she went on to say, tone falling into a mission-focused kind of role. An attempt to push her emotions aside for now. It would do them no good in this moment to let emotions dictate their departure. “Pick up previsions. Don’t… don’t tell anyone where you’re going. I know you’ll keep tabs on matters as best you can, even out there.”

_She knew him well._

“If you need to send word to me, use the caravan lines. It can be the easiest means of keeping messages fairly well ‘encrypted’,” Reed continued, although she knew he had already formulated his own internal plan. “I’ll do what I can for now.”

There was no telling when they might ever see each other again. There was no way to determine that piece of intel at this point in how events were currently unfolding. Danse would disappear into the Commonwealth, perhaps for the border, perhaps on the very outskirts. Depending on how the Brotherhood recon teams advanced and made claims throughout the area, there was no telling how far the veteran soldier would have to travel to stay safe.

“I’ll send word when I can,” he promised in a tone that garnered no question. _A promise._

“You stay safe,” she said with a hard edge, giving him a stern look. Only the moisture of her eyes betrayed her emotions. _Don’t die out there. I need you._

He tried his best to smile reassuringly. The pit in his stomach gnawed at the idea of having to leave her to the mercy of what would happen in the wake of all of this. _She is strong,_ he tried to tell himself. The most capable person for the job. But, she was also the woman he loved. And he wouldn't be there to keep her safe. “I will,” he said without question. “Don’t risk yourself. If anything happens, you leave. That’s an order.” _If matters went down with the Institute, if Maxson changed his mind…_

“Affirmative, sir,” she said through the heartbreak. Anyone would be hard-pressed to keep her away from Danse if given the opportunity to leave.

“Reed I….” he stumbled through the words a moment. Courage mustered in his chest. There was no telling when they would be reunited again. He was still holding her hand. A calloused hand squeezed it gently, as if drawing strength from her for a moment. “I love you, Reed. Even after all this, I just… I want you to know my feelings for you never changed.”

The knife in her chest twisted slightly. Resolve about this decision threatened to come crashing down around her.

“I love you, Danse,” she said, voice thick. “I’d do anything to protect you.”

He knew.

They both knew. Each one would be willing to do the same for the other.

Her lips never felt so soft as they did then upon his.

She inhaled softly, savouring the goodbye kiss, the way he felt against her body, relishing the last few moments they had together.

* * *

 

It was over so quickly.

Danse was gone.

So was Rook.

The road had never felt so lonely.

Utterly alone. Completely.

Nothing but the shuffling of boots to keep her company as she walked.

Tears rolled freely down her cheeks, occasionally wiped away with the back of a hand.

There were no sobs, no wailing cries. Just silent tears as the knife in her chest threatened to stay lodged there forever.

A permanent reminder of this world.

Humans hadn’t learned anything.

They still tore at each other like feral dogs when given the opportunity for personal gain.

Weathered boots did not carry her swiftly to the airport. A vertibird was not called in to be her escort.

_Let them wait._

She had other matters to attend to.

* * *

 

The wall was coarse underneath her fingertips. It was dark down below. Softly buzzing lights illuminated periodically along the tunnel, soft glowing balls as the dust particles hovered and shifted slightly in the still air. It was only a single set of footsteps that announced her arrival within the crypt. Alone still. The tears had ebbed, but the twisting of the knife in her chest remained. A flicker of anger had taken root within the depths of her mind as well. Not enough to create outlandish emotional reactions or threaten to break the calm of the surface. No, it was a small flicker of a flame. A tendril of anger that touched the thoughts. Motivation more than anything.

Rough edges of metal on stone moved carefully as she turned the dials with a practiced hand. They moved easily. An audible clicking announced the success of her input.

Sudden the wall to her left sunk back against the darkness and groaned heavily inward to reveal the passageway beyond. A familiar darkness. The Knight stepped into it, unafraid.

Spotlights clicked to attention as before. They hummed with the intensity of the power relayed to them. With them on, it suddenly felt less cold in the crypt.

“You again,” a voice chimed from behind the shielding glare of the lights.

As soon as they had been thrown, the lights dimmed and eventually fell into darkness once more. Smaller illuminated bulbs dotted the chamber, casting the figures into shifting shadows and diffused light.

Desdemona seemed surprised to see her. Deacon, to her left, was unphased.

There was an edge to her voice. There was no doubt that Dez still remained as formidable as ever. A tough woman. It took a thick skin to take on the challenges of the Commonwealth that they faced together as a group. A familiar trickle of smoke trailed into the air around her from between her fingertips. A hip cocked slightly in apparent nonchalance. As before, one of the agents kept the intruder within their weapon sights. This time a manner of assault rifle. Perhaps they left the miniguns for those better armed.

“I hear you got into the Institute,” Dez was saying carefully as she drew another drag from her cigarette. The tip glowed to life before it dimmed once more. Smoke trailed from her lips as she spoke. “I’m surprised you asked the Brotherhood for help on that, when we had offered you our assistance instead.”

The words weren’t said in a cold nor threatening manner. They were subtle jabs. A well-disguised warning to be cautious.

Reed had no taste for politics.

“I found, and retained, a way into the Institute,” she said bluntly and without fear. They could dislike her all they wanted for working with the Brotherhood, but in the end, it was Reed that had something they wanted here and now. “The Brotherhood’s relay did not survive the initial trial. Even if they were to rebuild it, they would need a Courser code. The Institute isn’t likely to fall for that one twice. Yes, I did get inside. And you need what I have. But first, I need your help.”

There was a silence between the two women as they stared eye to eye. Measuring. Calculating. Ash tumbled from the tip of Dez’s cigarette. Deacon made a move as if to speak. A  fierce hush from the Railroad leader’s lips quieted him before he loosened his tongue.

“What is it you want?” the fiery-haired woman asked with a lifting of her chin, nearly looking down her nose to the Vault dweller before her.

Reed’s gaze darkened slightly as reality was spread out before her. The opportunity to put motion events that would be hard-pressed to stop once they were set into place. The walk had given her time to think tactically. To evaluate her options. None of it was going to be easy, but perhaps it would be worth it in the end.

“The Brotherhood seeks to destroy the Institute and all of the technology associated with it,” Reed began in full honesty. If they were to trust her, her intel must be accurate. “No doubt you have seen increased activity at the airport.”

Deacon confirmed this with a nod. He was their eyes and ears upon the ground. A compulsive liar with a flare for the dramatic, but the information he was able to obtain could be incredibly reliable.

Reed continued. “They are re-establishing the offensive weapon known as Liberty Prime.”

Dez’s narrowed her eyes carefully, “Yes, we know that much.” She nearly spoke dismissively.

It was the Knight’s turn to put an edge to her words, “They will use it to blow up the Institute, now that they know where it is. If they utilize it, get it fully operational, then I have no doubt it will be used for the reclamation of the Commonwealth in the name of the Brotherhood. A scenario you’ve no doubt surmised. Well, I can confirm that the nuclear payload has been armed. I can confirm that they are seeking to bring Liberty Prime to full battle ready status as quickly as possible. You know they won’t stop at the Institute. Once they’ve eliminated that threat, they’ll turn their eyes to the Commonwealth. To the synths out there,” her tone was careful, warning. “You are already on their radar, I’m sure. Despite your attempts to stay underground. You aren’t a threat enough to them yet, but given the chance, they’ll seek to eliminate you too.”

Dez looked irritated as she cast the spent cigarette to the ground with a slight spattering of embers.

“Why tell us this?” she huffed angrily. It seems Reed had touched a nerve. _Ah, so they did know._ “What does any of this possibly change?”

A smile touched the corners of the Vault dweller’s lips. It wasn’t a smile of good times or happiness. It was a bitter kind of smile that failed to touch the eyes.

“Because,” Gladen said quietly, “they’re still missing some rare key components. With your tact for extraction and my intel, it wouldn’t be hard to delay the activation of Liberty Prime for a time.”

Glances were exchanged between the Railroad agents as they looked to their leader. No doubt there had been discussion lately about these matters. Of fallback plans in case the worst were to happen. The idea of the Brotherhood running the Commonwealth was enough to make most nervous. Despite meaning well, the Brotherhood was acting with such intensity in this mission operative. Pushed by the overzealous ideals of the Elder that lead them. It was worrysome to think of what would happen under his rule, should they lay claim out here.

“And what is it you’re asking in return for all of this?” Dez spoke tentatively, being clear to neither agree nor disagree just yet.

“There’s been enough killing,” the words were heavy. “And I can’t stop Liberty Prime on my own.”

“And if we help you stop Liberty Prime, what are you willing to offer us in return?” Dez asked, fleshing out just exactly what this exchange was.

“If you help me, I will help you extract synths directly from the Institute using the relay I’ve maintained,” she replied evenly. A few murmurs rippled through the agents. Dez held a hand up, silencing them. “Once that is done, we can discuss what to do with the Institute. No doubt the Brotherhood will get involved. This will stir up one hell of a hornet’s nest. But, there’s not much of a choice.”

Desdemona stood in quiet contemplation for a time, tapping a finger idly against her chin. Intense eyes looked up as if measuring the quality of the woman before her once more. There was no reason to believe the intruder. A turncoat. It could all be a trick, a rouse. Yet, if it was, then they clearly already knew where the Railroad HQ was. A single infiltration was not the Brotherhood’s style anyway. They were a guns-blazing, destroy all type of faction.

“What made you change your mind in all of this?” Dez came to put her hands on her hips. “You can understand my hesitation. If you turned on the Brotherhood to come to us, then what would stop you from turning on us again later? Perhaps you’re only trying to save your own skin in all of this.”

Reed words came out without defensiveness, surprisingly. “I helped a synth escape from the Brotherhood,” she responded without ire. Her green eye betrayed nothing of the emotion and turmoil she felt inside. It was only a lump in her throat that came to exist as she gave thought to her missing senior officer. “I don’t know where the synth is now, but I assume as safe as could be expected. They were so ready to kill one of their own just because of their ideals. It didn’t sit right with me. It still doesn’t. If I could, I would pick no one’s side and leave the Commonwealth entirely,” her voice was bitter. A breath calmed her tone. “But, that would help no one. And so here I am. If you want to help, then I’ll continue. If not, then I’ll be on my way.”

Dez shared a look with Deacon for a moment before turning once more to face their guest.

“Come inside,” she said without an edge to her voice. One may have even called it kind. “I believe we have much to discuss.”

 


	15. Next Assignment

Events were set into motion whose only certainty was the unpredictability of the outcome.

Oftentimes, logic would dictate the need for planning to ensure the highest chances of a specific outcome to surpass the rest. Yet, in the here and now, the possibilities for events to take an unexpected turn were far greater than any likelihood of a singular outcome. Too many people. Too many possibilities. Chances. Risks. Unknowns. It was all connected in a giant puzzle that would only be revealed once all the pieces were established one at a time. That was, if all matters fit together in the end.

Desdemona was a tough woman to deal with, but she understood calculated risks. Their conversation had been complicated, in-depth and without softening the truth. If matters were to be put into motion through them, then it had to be full disclosure of the facts. There would be no time for the carrying of hurt feelings or personal opinions in times of need. Fortunately, the agents of the Railroad understood the plight they were in. They had calculated some time ago that the Brotherhood would seek to eliminate them as sympathizers of the synths. It was just a matter of time. Yet, to risk an all-out assault against them was suicide.

Reed’s timing had been something of a saving grace for both factions.

Even if that timing had come out of spite.

Plans were put into play to temporarily relocate HQ to a fall-back location within the downtown core. Even with the assistance of Reed, designated by the Railroad as Agent Swift for secrecies sake, there was no telling if other squads might be dispatched from the Prydwen to take out the small resistance. A code system was also made familiar to the Knight in order to communicate as best they could without direct contact. Drop-zones. Secret messages. In operating behind the scenes of the world, secrecy was a mandatory ingredient to longevity.

Deacon, who had taken a shining to Reed even at their first meeting over the Courser chip, was eager to play a role in the unfolding plans. A compulsive liar, but a skilled field agent when it came to putting an ear to the pulse of the Commonwealth. He was charged with keeping tabs on Reed as best he could without garnering the attention of the Brotherhood, as well as his other assignments within the Railroad agencies daily operations.

It was sure to be a tricky game that they now engaged in.

Reed didn’t feel entirely like a turncoat, although most would probably deem her as such. Deep down, she knew her morals. Support for her brothers and sisters in arms, there was no part of her that wished ill upon the faction when thought of in terms of the individuals that were among it. She understood the passion those within the ranks held for their service and sense of duty. Her trouble came from the deteriorating sense of what their presense to the Commonwealth meant. Orders that were becoming more overzealous as time went on. A lack of acceptance for any that were different than they. Even long ago, some recruits would talk in hushed tones about tasks they had been assigned that made them feel uneasy. Those whispers were becoming more commonplace. 

No doubt she would be labeled as a traitor for seeking the Railroad’s aid. Yet, in the larger picture, it was truly for the benefit of the Brotherhood in a way. The Railroad too. It wasn't about individualized factions against one another. Her interest came in the preservation of life upon the surface. Banners and groups mattered little in the scheme of things. It made sense in her mind, how to accomplish everything. Tactically. Logically. With the least lives lost if matters unfolded in the most beneficial way. To eliminate the Institute threat. To refresh the Brotherhood’s view on having to destroy the entire Commonwealth to do so. To work together instead of against one another.

That was the end goal. There was no way of knowing if it would work.

The trek back to the airport had left her with mixed feelings on all manner of topics. To walk alone. To be reminded of the unshakable resolve of Elder Maxson’s view on the world. To look around at the soldiers in arms that she could practically greet by name by now. To know that, if given the order, those around her would do whatever was asked of them. Even if it meant destroying the innocent simply because their Elder would label them the enemy. It was no fault of those in the ranks. When asked to spill blood, many would. Some might question. But in the end, the folly of leadership came to the one giving the orders. Leaders designated the foes when on the field.

A black and white opinion should never be given ultimate control in a world painted with greys.

An uneasy pit formed in her stomach as she returned to stand before the Elder once back aboard the Prydwen. A hollow steel airship that somehow lacked the warmth it used to. It was no longer able to draw awe from her lips. Each metallic footstep or hissing release valve seemed to irritate the nerves. Strong was her desire to be out of this place, to go back out into the field. Yet, it would not be that easy anymore. She couldn’t just run and busy herself with recon missions. Not like before.

She offered them, then. From a hand dangled the holotags that Danse had once wore around his neck with pride. A true leader amongst the Brotherhood. It seemed just a terrible dream that was going on around them.

“That won’t be necessary,” Elder Maxson said with an edge to his voice. A brief flash of disgust rippled over his features as he looked at the offered tags. It seemed as if he were even too uncomfortable with the idea of synths that he couldn’t even bring himself to touch something that once belonged to them. _Was the hate truly that strong?_ “Perhaps you should keep them as a reminder of your lapse in vigilance.”

Knight Reed withdrew her hand and tucked the tags away in response. _Perhaps she would keep them as a reminder of all of this._ A sense of relief trickled down the back of her mind slightly. Part of her had hoped he would decline them. He didn’t deserve them anyway. "Yes, sir."

“Of course, Danse’s… execution creates a missing link in our chain of command,” the Elder went on to say, expression stony. “That traitor held quite an important position with us. I’m certain that you’ll make a fine replacement. His quarters and all his possessions are now yours, including his personal suit of Power Armor. Congratulations, Paladin.”

The Knight stared at him for a moment with a focused look. If any emotions were stirring, they failed to touch her blank features.

“His body’s not even cold, and you’re already dividing the loot,” she mused without humor.

“To the victor go the spoils. Being a part of the Brotherhood, you should learn to appreciate that sentiment. Just be aware that a Brotherhood Paladin is expected to be a symbol of integrity to our brothers and sisters. I trust you won’t disappoint them…. Or disappoint me,” he spoke with a narrowing of his gaze. It was clear the Elder did not approve of Reed entirely, but there was little choice in the matter. He clapsed his hands behind him. “In any event, we still have the Institute to contend with and a lot of work to do before we can begin our final assault. While the finishing touches are being put onto Liberty Prime, Captain Kells has identified a potential threat to our operations that needs resolution. Report to him immediately for details. Dismissed, Paladin.”

“Ad victorium, Elder,” Reed responded in turn as required. Swiftly she spun on a heel and exited the command deck.

She'd been wrong.

Being alone was not a bad thing when faced with the idea of maintaining poor company.

* * *

A quick visit with Captain Kells of the command deck confirmed her suspicions that the Brotherhood was seeking to take aim at the potential threat of the Railroad. It made sense. A short time ago, discussions and a few teams had been sent out with the purpose of attempting to narrow-down possible locations for the synth sympathizers. It seems that they had indeed located the likely location and meant to destroy those that would give safe haven to the synthetic people.

Fortunately, none had identified her previous, and now current, link to the outside faction. 

No doubt Danse would have heavily disapproved of her behavior to be associated with the underground synth smugglers. At least, at first he may have. If she were to lay it all out and go over it in detail, there was no doubt he would see the logic in it. Where Maxson stood stuck in his opinions and thoughts, at least Danse was able to view the world and admit when it was he that needed to change.

Still, there were heavy risks.

An extreme sense of caution would have to be put into place for the foreseeable future. There was little doubt that Elder Maxson still heavily disapproved of the Vault dweller after events with his previous Paladin. She herself was a synth sympathizer in a way. It gave even more weight to the requirement of obeying orders for the timebeing. To do anything else would risk unwanted attention.

Her next assignment was clear.

Infiltrate the identified Railroad HQ with a squad and take out the potential threats therein without mercy. Synth or human alike. Any tech located within the facility would be tagged and examined by Scribes. If it posed any potential threats or could not be utilized by the Brotherhood, it was to be destroyed.

A straightforward field assignment.

Metallic footsteps took her to the Power Armor bays below deck as her tactical mind worked on the task assigned, already going over potential issues out in the field. A squad would be awaiting her command once the word was given that she was ready to move out. It sat strangely with her. Normally, it was the Vault dweller who would look to Danse for tactical instructions of a mission. Now, she stood in his stead. A stolen seat to a deceased mentor. Her face twisted slightly. Command had never been her goal here.

Her T-60 stood in fairly pristine condition in Bay 3.

Danse’s T-60 stood empty in Bay 2. The familiar dings and scratches. A paint job that boasted of rank and status within the fold. It was hers now, according to procedure and political bullshit. However, it would never be hers. To her, it still belonged to Danse.

Green eyes examined both for a moment before she ventured off to speak with Proctor Teagan in his weapon’s and inventory cage.

“Preparing for the next mission, Knight?” Teagan chattered in his familiar way as an age-creased face smiled towards the female officier. 

She didn’t correct him. They’d know soon enough. There were no secrets within the Brotherhood.

“Yes,” she said simply. “I need supplies loaded for an underground infiltration assignment. Frag grenades, pulse mines. Looking to face off against some heavy tech and well-armed personnel. There won’t be time to get organized on the ground, so the squad will be outfitted before we depart.”

“I can have it readied within the hour,” Proctor Teagan said in earnest, hearing the determination within her voice. The ring of command. He was a smart fellow. He might have even come to his own conclusion about the change in her behavior. “Shall I radio you when its ready to go?”

“Just get the squad outfitted and I’ll be waiting above deck,” she said with a straightward tone.

“Yes, ma’am,” the weapons master said before he trned away to busy himself in work without question.

Reed felt somewhat distant even within her own mind. Like she was going through the motions. Simply viewing the world play out in front of her like some surreal movie that she didn’t remember agreeing to watch. To command such a position amidst the ranks was the dream of many of the hard-working soldiers she had met over the past year and some. And here she was, going through the motions without that passion for it. Appointed without earning it. It felt like a slap in the face to those worthy of such a position.

Yet, she would act within the role to the best of her abilities. To do otherwise would be to garner the wrong kind of attention. To raise questions. To have them question her motives.

Surely there were even whispers about her now. Whispers that wouldn’t even reach her ears. Talk of how she had to kill her very mentor. Hushed voices about her promotion without years of dedication. Quiet conversation about whether events were as true as they were spoken.

Footsteps carried her once more to her T-60 and its familiar form. A glance was cast towards the previous Paladin’s equipment, returned from the Mark 28 facility without issue.

A passing recruit caught her eye.

“Soldier,” she said, tone authoritative. The recruit stopped and came to attention. A young man. His face wasn’t familiar. “I want this T-60 Power Armor transported to the airport at the next available opportunity and made ready for extraction to one of the main operations outposts when I return from this mission.”

A salute to chest was the recruit’s response. “Yes, ma’am,” he said without hesitation.

Paladin Reed nodded and twisted the release of her own T-60 Power Armor. It hissed in its familiar tone. Hinges rolled and servos whispered promisingly as the creation unfolded to receive her. Carefully, she stepped inside. The platforms beneath her feet flexed softly as the heavy springs and hydraulics accustomed to her body weight. Hands reached into the familiar rigging as the creation seemed to melt around her like a mechanical glove. Miles and miles had been marked within the confines of her metallic form. An exoskeleton to face off against the wasteland. It had been tweaked time and time again until it fit her perfectly. It moved with her. An extension of her form. Protection from the elements.

She flexed the hands slightly as the panels folded back into place with a secure interlocking of edges. It felt familiar. Comfortable. Almost like a mechanical safety blanket of reassurance. Where she could hide from the world just briefly. A helmet kept her expressions neutral to all those that looked upon her now.

Orange illuminated letters and numbers flickered to life upon her internal HUD.

With some luck, the Railroad would have cleared out their base of command by now.

If not, then they would be hard-pressed to survive the onslaught.

Reed would not be able to pull any punches now. They'd had their warning.

* * *

 

Part of her felt like it was a test.

A test to see if she was a synth supporter.

It would make sense, after all. To send someone to kill synth supporters and see if they hesitated like before or if it was an isolated case with her and Danse.

There was no hesitation on her part now. A calm disconnect.

Then again, it helped that she had warned them. Helped her keep up appearances amongst her squad. A team of BOS soldiers. There were two Knights in accomanyment as well, assigned by Elder Maxson himself. Possibly to keep an eye on their newly appointed Paladin, to see if the new officer had the abilities to lead them into the frey.

They would not be disappointed.

The vertibird dropped them off just outside the point of interest near one of the downtown core entrances. Coastline spread around much of the land here. Bridges were both a point of access, and dangerous choke points. Each member of the Brotherhood was heavily outfitted and loaded with ammunition for the assault. Intel had suggested the strong possibility of heavy resistance if engaged.

Paladin Reed was donning her T-60 alongside her two Knights, Smith and Jax. Model soldiers, the lot of them. It was strange to be flanked by a team. To be issuing orders. To be the deciding point of instruction for their assault. She simply did what she thought Danse would do.

Old wooden door of the aging church didn’t stand a chance against the powered boot kick from a Power Armored foot. Its frame splintered under the assault. It crashed inward with a groan. The top hinge came loose as it listed defeated to the side. It yielded readily to the waiting team of infiltraters. The main floor was, of course, just an old church. Regardless, they cleared each section accordingly. Each duo flanked off and cleared the main floor methodically. No one radioed back any resistance.

“They are below ground,” Reed announced over the audio relay of her helmet, assault rifle snugged tightly to her shoulder. “Its tight quarters below. Lots of places to hide. Check your corners for rigged explosives. Two by two. I don’t want anyone clustering up possible choke points. Wait for the call of clear before proceeding.”

They knew. She knew they knew. These weren’t newbies. Still, she kept her sense of command on the issue regardless of their past experience. There was no denying that this mission was hers. Its success or failure would fall to her actions or inaction.

The Knight named Smith went first, armed with the more tactical semi-automatic rifle and strapped with frag grenades if need be. A T-60 protected him as well. Jax covered his sweep from behind with a minigun at the ready. The two had worked together long before this outing. There was no surprise that they moved with minimal communication. It was all muscle reflex by now.

Several moments crawled by. No explosions. No tripped lines.

“All clear,” the distorted radio voice of Jax came over the helmet relay.

Paladin Reed desended the stairs in her own Power Armor, body stance and movements still that of tactical interest. Checking corners. Doing her own sweep. A handful of soldiers followed her from behind.

“Did you locate an entrance?” the commanding officier asked.

“Positive,” came Jax’s female voice. “It appears to be rigged.”

“Do not engage.”

A closed fist signaled her team to halt a few corridors back as she continued forward. Knight Smith and Knight Jax stood before the sunken wall that promised to be more than just a wall. It was an obvious entrance. Sure enough, it appeared to be rigged in some type of fashion different than Reed had seen. The dial was missing from the exterior. A few stray wires lay hanging from the hole in the stone wall. Some type of grey putty was pressed into the cracks around the seal of the entrance. It wouldn't take an explosives expert to understand that it would likely explode if compromised.

“Agreed, it looks rigged,” the Paladin announced as she came and looked closely at the door. Between the three of them, all donning power suits, any explosion suffered here and now would be hard-pressed to do them in entirely. Blunt force could sure cause a heck of a concussion, but it took a fair amount to cause death. It was why the remainder of the team had been signaled to stay behind as they investigated the possibility of explosion.

“Orders?” Smith asked. His voice was graveled. An older soldier.

Reed gave a slight nod. “Blow it,” she said. They discussed this possibility during their briefing at the Prydwen. Remote detonation of the interior door.

Both Knights worked quickly in time with one another as the Paladin looked on with a careful gaze. What lay beyond that door was anybody’s guess at this point. After relaying the information to the Railroad, Reed had departed quickly. Even she didn’t know what lay beyond or what their plan had been in the event of a direct attack. It was easy to feign caution here and now.

“Ready on your command,” Smith announced as they stepped back from their work.

“Fall back to a safe distance,” she said. “Anyone not armored retreat back up the stairwell and wait on the main floor to avoid any blast wave or heat. Smith, Jax and I will move in first.”

It proceeded without a hitch.

Their remote detonation triggered a larger explosion than antificpated. It seems that additional explosives had been waiting just beyond the span of the entrance, left behind by the retreating field agents. Smoke billowed violently through the passageways of the crypt. Dust whirled in the dim lights and made it difficult to see more than a few feet in front. Although it was difficult to feel from within the confines of the Power Armor, it was easy to see the waves of heat in the air as the shockwave passed by them. Not extensive, but enough to cause discomfort for any standing too close.

With practiced grace, the trio pressed forward into the unknown with weapons at the ready.

Dust spilled messily into the open room beyond. Any lights in the immediate area failed to glow as the surrounding glass and internal fillaments failed to survive the shockwave. Headlamps from the T-60s did their best to penetrate the grey.

No bullets came to meet them.

No turrets. No rigged weapons. No Protectron or assault drone.

Beyond lay an empty room. Lights glowed here, having survived the explosion.

Possessions lay strewn about. Even a few terminals had been left behind, although they appeared smashed. A bedroll or two lay in each corner. Strips of paper hung from nails on the wall that spoke of posters ripped without caution.

“Clear the area,” instructed the Paladin, although there was really no need for that direction. Still, the trio moved and swept each area.

Their investigations turned up no persons hiding within the facility.

“Appears all clear, ma’am,” Jax’s voice echoed over the audio relay, voice distorted.

Reed felt a sense of relief in her chest as she looked around. Some information had been left. A quick glance spoke of false trails purposefully left by the Railroad. Information that was non-crucial. Intel that would provide nothing but more confusion to any that tried to interpret the meaning behind it.

A flashing red light caught the Paladin’s attention from the corner of her eye. An obvious flashing red light. The only warning she would get in this situation.

_Fuck._

They had indeed rigged the place to blow. A glance down determined that the laser trip had been set off by their sweeps.

“Fall back, place is rigged!” she radioed over her headset. No number sequence was seen on the contraption hidden behind the desk, but the payload it featured would be enough to bring this place to rubble when it went off.

Thunderous footsteps announced their quick departure. Even armed in Power Armor, if the building were to collapse, there would be little chance they would survive the encounter. Pinned under rubble and debris, no one would be able to extract them quickly enough.

“Fall back, everyone, fall back,” she was radioing.

The squad above retreated from the building and made for a safe distance.

Smith and Jax stomped heavily in front of her with practiced ease, skipping every other step with ground-consuming strides.

Her T-60 groaned with the effort as she pressed for speed.

Each stair felt like it took an hour.

In her head, she was counting.

How long would they have given?

Did they think it would be her to come for them? Perhaps they’d given her some time.

Perhaps the delay was, instead, to lure the majority of the group below after the all-clear then activate.

Each moment passed heavily.

Sound traveled slower than the force of the explosion.

As her feet met the platform of the main floor, the world erupted around them with a boom. Smith and Jax were tossed violently from the doorway and out into the street beyond.

Paladin Reed’s shoulder met that of the interior wall as the explosion crippled the building and erupted from the floor below in a giant ball of fire and heat. There was sound like that of a thousand freight trains, and yet no sound at all. Light and darkness all at once. It knocked the wind from her as the building both exploded outwards and then collapsed.

Black smoke poured into the sky from the desimated building as wood and beams tumbled from hundreds of feet into the air and clattered chaotically along the streets.

Her ears were ringing and it was hard to determine where she was. Tried to move but was pinned. Carefully, she wiggled her fingers and her toes. They worked. That was a start.

“Paladin!” she heard a voice call out. Was it over her audio relay? No, it was too faint.

The orange screen flickered with malfunction. The data it was pouring out made no sense. 

Light came as she took a breath. A large beam groaned as it was shifted aside. It was easier to move now.

Reed coughed.

Suddenly there was someone grabbing her arms and dragging her along the ground with a teeth-grinding noise of metal on pavement. Still, it felt good to breath.

Someone was opening up the coupler to her helmet.

“Paladin Reed, can you hear me?”

It was Jax.

The commanding officer coughed and groaned.

Her helmet hissed and it was removed. Fresh air flooded her senses.

“Affirmative,” she said as she blinked and gave her head a slight shake. Perhaps a mild concussion.

Damn, that had been too close.

Carefully, the Vault dweller sat up and surveyed the scene before her. Jax was crouched beside her, holding the helmet she’d removed. Knight Smith had helped drag her from the rubble.

“Fuck,” the senior officer spat as she looked at the scene before her. Green eyes glanced over to Smith. “Report. Anybody hurt?”

A T-60 helmet shook back and forth slightly. “Negative, ma’am,” he responded. “Everyone made it out without injury.”

At least there was that.

Seems the Railroad had made it out without injury as well.

“Report back to the Prydwen for de-briefing. We need to find out where they went,” she ordered with a feigned tone of anger and frustration.

“Right away, Paladin,” Jax responded, unable to salute while still holding the senior officer’s helmet.

Paladin Reed took it back from the Knight, briefly glancing at the damage. A large ding dented the entire side of the piece of equipment. No wonder the internal components were struggling to operate normally.

“Radio us our extraction,” she continued. “No doubt they know we are here. I don’t want to walk into any more traps today.”

It was easy to say that last phrase convincingly.

After all, being blown up once was more than enough for one day.

* * *

 

Tasks for eliminating the Railroad were put on hold until intel could provide insight as to their new location of operations within the Commonwealth. There was no sense in wasting resources chasing ghosts.

Reed was thankful for that.

Elder Maxson had been displeased at being one step behind the synth sympathizers, but there was little that could be done until positive identification of the groups whereabouts could be provided by recon teams. It would be more difficult now, seeing as they appeared to know that the Brotherhood had taken an interest in their activities. They would now be more cautious, less likely to operate out in the open. They might even go radio silent for a time, or cease operations until the interest in them ebbed a bit. It was like grasping at shadows.

Fortunately, being part of the explosion seemed to alleviate some of the suspicion of Reed being involved in synth sympathizer activities. The Elder had appeared to relax around her once more. No longer breathing down her neck, no longer using a tone edged with sharpness at all times. It was as if running into fire and rebuttal from the underground group had somehow cleansed Reed of a portion of her ‘sins’ against the Brotherhood.

It was difficult being a Paladin, however.

New duties. New roles.

It was certainly a shift to have that much attention turned towards her.

Yet, it had its uses.

Nobody seemed to really question the methods beyond orders when they were small and simple. Small tasks that may go unnoticed by the whole.

Transporting Danse’s T-60 had been relatively easy. When asked by Proctor Teagan and Proctor Ingram, Reed had explained it had be relocated to one of their outposts so that she would always have access to a set of the armor in case of mechanical failure of the other set.

No one had questioned it.

No one questioned her comings and goings, so long as she reported on time and in detail as to her whereabouts and any gathered intel.

Currently, she operated exclusively with the interest of the Brotherhood’s focus.

No communication was attempted with the Railroad.

No communication was attempted with her allied settlements or the Minutemen.

Not until matters continued to maintain their routine here at the BOS HQ.

Not until it became routine for her to be out in the field without anyone batting an eye.

* * *

 

Luckily, it was becoming easier to feel the calm return to matters around the Brotherhood. Nobody spoke of Danse any longer. Nobody appeared surprised to hear the title ‘Paladin Reed’. Talk had once more shifted to that of Liberty Prime. Of their proposed assault upon the Institute. Of preparations and the goings on of operations within the Commonwealth for the glory of the Brotherhood.

Still, it was tiresome at times. Reed kept a distance from those around her. Eating in the mess hall without much comradery. Waking up each day from the bed she was used to sharing with another person’s warmth and comfort. Everything seemed so cold now. The steel walls of the Prydwen. The metallic embrace of her armor. It was difficult to muster the courage needed to face each day with the measure of thoughts that continued to swirl within her mind.

It was exhausting to constantly be on ones guard. To continually maintain analysis of being one step ahead in this world. To wonder what might happen if events were to unfold in a way that had been unpredicted.

It would be nice to be boots on the ground for a change.

Three weeks had passed since the explosion at the Railroad’s HQ.

It was beginning to feel claustrophobic aboard the Prydwen. Even repairing and upgrading components of her T-60 had proved insufficient to shake off the desire to get out of the insufferable tin can of the airship and its confines. A few trips had ventured her to assist in matters down on the airport grounds. Some ventures out on patrols with the vertibirds as they monitored the Super mutant threats in the downtown core. Still, returning each day to the Prydwen was proving to be slightly frustrating.

“Paladin Reed,” a voice had interrupted her thoughts.

She sat back from the T-60 and rubbed a lock of hair away from her eyes with the back of a hand. Grease and grime streaked up nearly to her elbows. A wrench was in one hand, a replacement servo switch in the other.

“Yes?” she asked, tone somewhat irritated. There was a lot on her mind.

“Proctor Ingram has asked for your assistance at the airport,” the Knight relayed dutifully, standing at attention before the newest Paladin.

A sigh fell from her lips.

To anyone else, it would have seemed as irritated as her tone. In truth, it was a sigh of thankful relief to be given reason to escape this place for a time. Casually she put down her equipment, grabbed a rag and began to wipe the grime from her fingertips and along her arms.

“Tell her I’ll be down shortly,” she responded, tone no longer slicing nor impatient.

A snapping salute was offered to the senior officer before the Knight made to relay the message.

Green eyes took in the T-60 before her. The new servo could be replaced when she returned. It wasn’t crucial, just an upgrade. In a way, it was a friend amidst this turmoil. Reliable. Comforting. Something she could turn to and know it wouldn’t betray her. Wouldn’t judge her and what she was doing. It never questioned her, never questioned her ability.

Was this why Danse had grown so attached to his own equipment over the years?

A slight frown touched her features as her mind treaded dangerously close to matters which were still tender. It was still there. The dull ache in her chest. To give it too much thought was enough to make her eyes sting slightly if she let it overwhelm her. The worry. The fear. The unknown.

Deep down, she knew he was alright. _He must be._ And she was doing everything she could while she was here to keep it together. To not let it affect her duty. To complete whatever tasks the Elder had set out for her so that he would give no thought to pursuing Danse again. To let it be. To let life go on as it would.

A weight settled in the pit of her stomach at the idea. To wonder how long it would be.

She swallowed hard and regathered her focus.

It would work.

She had to believe that.

With a mental shake, Paladin Reed tidied up her area and made her way to the flight deck of the Prydwen. Proctor Ingram was a good person. Smart, logical. Given any task, she would find a way to complete it. It was never a dull moment when it came to dealing with that woman. Typically she didn’t ask for assistance unless it was matters outside of her field. Whether of expertise or requiring assistance in completing a task. It wouldn’t be the first time she had asked for the Paladin’s help.

Perhaps it would give Reed an excuse to spend time outside these walls. A recon mission. A gathering of equipment or supplies.

At worst, it would be something she’d have to do here at the airport, or something that could be remedied quickly.

At best, it would be a mission out in the field. Perhaps for something difficult to find or hard to obtain.

Reed decided to get her hopes up just a bit.

 


	16. Mass Fusion

Proctor Ingram sat adjacent to her aboard the vertibird aircraft. A human hand gripped the railing that kept the small crew steady in the face of the buffeting wind and slight turbulence. It was just shortly after first light, the glow of dawn still heavy upon the horizon with its blazing glow of reds and pinks mixed with just a hint of green upon the North and South of its rise.

The fresh air felt wonderful. Breathing deeply, the female Paladin took a moment to simply enjoy the view. Even the pit in her stomach had eased as they took to the air. The fear of flying seemed somehow less than the anxiety being cooped up aboard the military airship was. For once, she truly enjoyed the ride and its sense of freedom. Plus, they were heading out on a mission operative together. The first one in nearly a month. If there was any anxiety about the task, it simply sat as a sense of slight unease in the pit of her stomach. Excitement overwhelmed what nerves were present.

“We’re approaching the Mass Fusion building now,” Proctor Ingram spoke loudly over the drone of the rotors.

“I see it,” Reed replied, looking down from where she was stationed at the minigun.

It seems that Liberty Prime was dead in the water unless they were able to resolve the power issue. What had appeared simply a delay proved to be catastrophic power failure unless they were able to supply a much more vast power source to the gigantic contraption. Proctor Ingram was rightly upset at the news.

Such a power source would be scarce in the Commonwealth. Not to mention dangerous to obtain if they were to locate it.

Records indicated the likelihood of an intact operational nuclear relay core within the subbasement of the Mass Fusion building. Standing steadily against the world, the building itself was in remarkably good condition. It was possible that it was relatively undamaged internally as well, if the outside was any clue. However, tactical recon teams that had sought to investigate the building were met with a surprising source of resistance; Synths. Gen2s, by the sounds of it.

As such, attempts instead were being made to access the building from an unlikely angle; The roof.

The theory was that it may have less defenses put in place if they were to attempt it from an unlikely approach.

A closer fly-by clarified that assumption, and proved it to be incorrect. White-hot flashes of laser rounds were sent up from figures that were strewn about the surface of the rooftop. White uniforms against pale synthetic skin, holding white lasers, firing white laser rounds. It seems the Institute was invested in this particular building as well. It may even have been utterly compromised.

“Proctor Ingram, thoughts?” Paladin Reed glanced over briefly before unleashing a few sprays of return fire upon the synths below. Had they been Gen3s, she may have felt a twang of regret. However, Gen2s were more like advanced Protectrons. Less attachment. It was easier.

A frustrated and struggling expression took over the Proctor’s features. Some internal debate, perhaps. Ingram was a genius, after all.

“Our only hope at ever rebooting Liberty Prime to its full capacity is to find that alternative power source,” she said in a deeply serious tone. “Our best hope is to find it here. There are other locations, but even our calculations state that those may not be powerful enough to bring about the full operation of his upgraded systems.”

Reed took a deep breath and looked at the swarming building before them.

Other vertibirds were spotted in the distance. Support teams that would await the order to embark as backup if the need were to arise.

“Then we go in, and we go in hot, Proctor,” she said with matching seriousness.

They needed to find out if the power source was still operational.

It was the key to either the success of Liberty Prime, or, without it, its current demise.

Either way, Reed would have to find out.

* * *

In a way, it felt strange to be gunning down the Gen2s. Just slightly. Not in a way that drew forth guilt or remorse for her actions. After all, the white-hot rounds that arced through the air in her direction were aimed with intent to kill. Still, it felt strange to know that a generational upgrade between the two varieties of synths, Gen2s and Gen3s, was enough to create such a vast difference in existence. The difference between advanced Protectrons and near-human resemblence.

The ones they currently faced were heavily programmed, with automated responses and machine-like reactions to real-world scenarios.

Gen3s were, well, vastly superior. Human-like. Indistinguishable between real and synthetic.

Thankfully, none of those were featured here and now.

“If we can navigate down, we should be able to gain access into the facility,” Proctor Ingram was saying as she hoisted a laser rifle of her own. It was no Righteous Authority, but it was a weapon of great contention.

Paladin Reed reloaded the fusion cell magazine into her rifle with practiced grace. Even though they were currently heavily pinned down by hostiles, it somehow felt familiar out here. To be moving. To feel her boots upon a firm surface of a mission objective. To be working ones way through a problem rather than sitting around waiting for intel. Even the threat of death somehow felt like a familiar comrade. It was strange to put into words.

Swiftly, she rolled from cover and began to stroke the trigger in rapid succession.

Synths staggered and fell. Others spun with the momentum of a laser round and tried their best to return fire while disoriented. Red rounds mirrored her own, supported by the Proctor at her side. It was strange to be working with someone one on one again. Ingram was no active field agent, but she was rather fearless when faced against the odds.

Then again, Liberty Prime was under her stead. Its success inevitably fell to the mechanical woman.

A portion of the roof lay in a state of collapse, giving access to the internal building without much difficulty. However, the partial ruins of the building posed a slight difficulty as more synths lay in wait for the intruders. Even with the high ground, the Brotherhood soldiers had some difficulty moving without being spotted and targeted.

“There’s a lot of them,” Reed was saying as she pressed her back against a supportive I-beam as white-hot rounds flared around her. Robotic voices chattered in the room beyond, announcing their intent to shoot and kill, to locate the enemy, to pursue without mercy. In her mind, she was wondering about the status of this mission. A few different scenarios were bouncing around in her mind, tactically thinking a few steps ahead in attempt to look for an advantage.

That, and worrying slightly. The Railroad had been informed that their best chance to render Liberty Prime useless would been to obtain the nuclear power sources from throughout the Commonwealth and extract them before the Brotherhood could.

Yet the sheer amount of synths here were giving her cause to question if they had been unable to contend with the Mass Fusion building.

“We’ll just have to keep pressing, and hope for the best,” Proctor Ingram was saying.

If it was meant to be inspiring, it fell flat.

Inspirational speeches would best be left to someone with a more charismatic mannerism and leadership qualities.

Still, their provisions gave them superiority over the roof after a time. The sheer amount of ammunition they were able to bring with them had given a tactical edge. Ruins had provided sufficient cover. That, and Proctor Ingram’s mechanical body structure was helpful in reducing wounds to the flesh. As did Reed’s Power Armor.

A brief search of the area yielded access to the elevator.

The Paladin was suddenly thankful for her Power Armor. Even if the elevator failed and plummeted, the damage from any fall would be minimal.

It still didn’t help the concept that they would be stepping into an elderly contraption that would need to descend to some of its lowest levels to the reactor core many, _many_ stories below.

“You sure the roof was the best option for infiltration?” Reed asked as she examined the flickering light of the elevator tube. A single platform was all that would stand between them and the vast empty air in the shaft below. It was meant somewhat in jest, but the pale expression on the Proctor’s face made the Paladin remember that Ingram had been out of the field a fair amount of time. Reed was used to facing death with decent regularity. The Proctor, apparently, not so much.

The Vault dweller changed her tone slightly.

“Come on, there’s only one way to find out if this thing actually works,” she said with an air of confidence. “Besides, if we’re to get to the core before this gets out of hand, we need to move quickly.”

Proctor Ingram seemed to gather what courage she had, and stepped onto the platform with the Paladin. Each remained armed. A recorded voice crackled over the intercom within.

_“Going down.”_

Overhead, the sound of gears spinning to life could be heard with a familiar clicking, squealing and tinging of metal. The platform moved slightly, jogged a bit and then began to lower into the depths of the building below.

* * *

 

Lips pressed together firmly as the duo stepped into the subasement room they had been seeking. Synths had made access to this particular section of the building difficult. They appeared like radroaches, crawling from every direction just when they thought they’d seen the last of the synthetic creations.

Sweat glistened upon the brow of the Paladin as she observed the eerie blue glow of the reactor behind the massive wall of protective glass. It had been a tiresome series of events to get to this point. Arms felt heavy within the Power armor. A mild headache drummed gently against her forehead just behind her eyes. There was little wonder as to why. This was proving to be a taxing mission that had already taken longer than anticipated.

Proctor Ingram appeared equally as tired, if not more so.

“This is it,” she pronounced with relief.

The Vault dweller felt little relief, personally.

“The reactor components we need are going to be housed within the main reactor core,” Ingram was saying as she strode into the room with mechanically replaced legs. The human appeared partially fused to some sort of Power armor at first glance. Technology had kept her going even after her incident. “One of us will need to go inside and extract those nuclear materials.”

“Let me guess,” Reed mused without humor as green eyes stared at the glowing blue structure just beyond, “that someone is going to have to be me.”

“’fraid so,” the other woman replied, casting a sidelong glance towards the Paladin.

Reed closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Upon opening them, she took a moment to evaluate the room around her for their approach to this plan. A pulsing blue glow foretold of high amounts of radiation once beyond the decontamination passageway and airlock. It was currently operating at apparent full power, the reactor. There was little wonder why it would be beneficial to the activation and sustained power required for Liberty Prime. The entire room practically hummed.

Fortunately, a familiar orange fabric hung draped from a peg and hook not far from the entrance to the chamber airlock and decontamination pod. With a practiced grace, Reed exited her Power armor.

“If I’m going to handle such a delicate part, I will need my dexterity,” the Paladin was saying, half thinking out loud and half going through the plan in her mind. “Not that the Power armor doesn’t possess surprising amounts of dexterity, be we can’t run any risks. Plus, my visibility makes fine work difficult. If I suit up in the hazmat provided, I’ll need you to operate the doors and keep watch for anymore synths.”

“Yes, Paladin,” Proctor Ingram was nodding. “That won’t be a problem.”

Reed nodded once before fine fingers reached out and plucked the designated hazmat suit from its station. A silver helmet was hung nearby with care. Both would fit together perfectly, as they were designed.

Despite it being slightly big on her, it would do.

* * *

 

Great metallic doors sighed lazily as they parted before her, yielding the decontamination room beyond. A series of nozzles lined the entire length of the corridor that would remove any stray isotopes that clung to ones clothing or tracked in with each footstep. It was only a mild measure of reassurance, of course. The best option would be to minimize exposure, especially at such high levels as seen in the room beyond.

“The Agitator should be easily removed from the main core at the central station. Once removed, power should abruptly plummet. I’m not sure it’ll drop the radiation levels immediately, though. Best get in and get out, ma’am,” the intercom chattered as if read from the inside of a tin can.

“I don’t plan to be in there long,” Gladen said to herself.

A programmed voice relayed the sequence initiating for decontamination upon entering. Tiny jets sprayed a fine mist that almost immediately dispersed into the air around her.

 _“Decontamination complete. You may proceed,”_ the feminine voice of the mainframe relayed.

Heavy security doors groaned and parted before her as access was granted to the reactor room. A massive and complex piece of equipment that stood a handful of stories tall, connected to the entirty of the building and offering a practically unlimited source of power for at least the next several thousand years. Temperatures within the room spiked. Without Power armor, it was easy to feel the change.

Protected footsteps carried her along the metallic walkways further into the room. Two sets of stairs climbed upwards to the promise above. A main operations platform that surrounded what appeared to be the source of the illuminating blue light could be seen at the top of the stairways. It was a short climb that quickly reversed at the top to loop back upon itself. Several metallic spheres were connected together once near the main control panel, anchored with large bolts and wires to a heavy-duty structure of metal and steel. Glass tubes carried the glow in a pulsing manner down below where she stood. Lights blinked over the control panel.

Part of Reed wished Ingram was the one doing this. Not because of its danger, but for the sheer fact that the Proctor at least understood what the majority of this equipment was and how to deal with it.

Two gloved hands reached out and began to strike at a few of the more obvious keys. After a moment, the protective casing on a giant glowing red button released. Hesitation. Fingers curled as if questioning whether to press the emergency release button. A deep breath.

It yielded easily beneath the press of her palm.

A flicker of the blue light interrupted her thoughts. Equipment around her powered down from a deep thrumming buzz to that of only a mild hum. The largest of the metallic spheres rotated and clicked into place. Like something out of a movie, it presented the Beryllium Agitator by slowly ejecting it from the internal couplers.

Paladin Reed took it carefully. It was heavier than it looked.

“Got it—“

Alarms began to shriek and buzz. Where the room once glowed blue now flashed an angry and blazing red as security protocols spun to life.

 _“Security alert in the reactor chamber. Emergency lockdown initiated,”_ the automated female voice of the mainframe called out almost pleasantly.

_Shit._

Laser turrets that had been hidden within the tiles of the roof rotated to address the intruder without mercy. Blazing red flashes hissed angrily through the air in the general direction of the Vault dweller. Gripping the Agitator tightly with one gloved hand, she ducked from the barrage and took a quick glance at the walkway below. A short jump. Without hesitation, she reached out and grabbed the railing, dangling for a moment from the second story as she aimed for the walkway below. Grip released and she dropped without a problem. Feet landed heavily, but they were soon moving as she ran for the exit.

“Intruders!” the voice of Ingram radioed over the intercom.

_Fuck._

Reed punched the red button of the decontamination chamber as she threw herself into cover. Painfully slow, the doors behind her eased back into their sealed position until they clicked with success of the airlock. No turrets were seen within the chamber. An automated sequence countdown initiated to deal with the influx of radiation from exposure to the room beyond.

It felt as if it were taking hours. Tiny jets and a fine mist entered the room before a negative air pressure quickly cleansed the contaminated pod.

A happy buzz announced its conclusion. Still gripping the Beryllium Agitator, the Paladin stumbled from the tiny room to rejoin the fray against the synths. It would only be a few short steps to Righteous Authority, to her Power armor. If she could keep behind cover, take them by surprise…

But that would not be the case.

Before she stepped but two feet from within the decontamination chamber, a muzzle came to touch the side of her temple.

She froze.

“Uh uh... No sudden moves,” said the male voice. “Put it down, slowly, and step away.”

Eyes narrowed slightly as Reed stared straight ahead. With tight features, she lowered the Agitator carefully to the ground with extreme care. Both hands came up at her sides in submission, palms open to the air in front of her.

“Did you kill Ingram?” the Paladin asked, straining to look at the one who held her at gunpoint.

He stood just scarcely out of her peripherals due to the uncomfortable silver hazmat helmet.

“No,” the voice was honest. Movement made it seem as if he checked over his shoulder. “Although I can’t say she won’t have one massive headache once this is all done. Took a few swings to take the girl down. Guess it makes sense. She is part machine, by the looks of it. Anyway, we’ll be taking this and be on our way. Don’t try to follow us. It’ll be no use. By the time you find out how we got in, we’ll be long gone. With the Agitator. But hey, it’s a big Commonwealth out there. Maybe there’s another power source you guys can find instead. Who knows, right?”

Reed’s lips were pressed into a flat line as she tried to make heads or tails of what exactly was going on.

“Right, I almost forgot!” the male voice sounded as if he slapped his forehead comedically. “No hard feelings, alright?”

Pain flared like an explosion through her body as the sound of two gunshots resonated within the room in which they stood. It was a blinding kind of pain from the sudden onslaught of it. A hand made to grab her leg as she crumpled to the ground with a scream. Her chest flared with a burning pain as the other bullet traced itself casually through a rib and out through the adjacent arm.

“ _Fuck!_ ” she yelled, ground coming up to meet her without mercy.

Scarcely, she heard the footsteps of the thieves departing. Hands trembled as they gripped with futility at the painful, yet non-life-threatening, wounds. It wouldn’t be terribly long until Proctor Ingram woke up or until their support squads arrived after clearing the levels around them within the building. The hazmat suit in which she dwelled lacked a radio for communication. With radio silence ongoing, they would surely find them sooner rather than later.

Trying not to focus on the pain as she writhed slightly on the floor, drawing shaky but slow and deep breaths, mind shifted to how they had possibly gotten in.

A vertibird hovered protectively roofside. Brotherhood ground support was climbing ever upward through the Mass Fusion stories, clearing level by level. Yet there they were, here and now. Perfect timing. Perfect location. There must be a second way in.

It was tactically brilliant.

* * *

Being shot was unpleasant.

Being shot twice was even more so.

She would relish the opportunity to punch Deacon in the jaw the next time they met.

Yet, it had been a surprisingly admirable plan.

The Beryllium Agitator was gone. Proctor Ingram was concussed, but no permanent damage done. A few Stimpaks later and even the Paladin was able to limp from the building without too much trouble as soon as their reinforcement teams concluded their sweeps and found them. No one had seen the person, or people, responsible for the theft of the device, nor anybody else other than synths operating within the facility. Even additional sweeps of the facility yielded no resolution as to where they may have fled after their assault on the Proctor and Paladin.

No one knew who had stolen it. At least, there was no confirmation as to who may have been responsible. As it was, with the amount of synths operating within the facility and the ability to teleport provided by the Institute, rumors rippled through the ranks like wildfire at the likelihood that the Institute was behind the disappearance of the Agitator in an attempt to delay the onslaught of Liberty Prime.

Paladin Reed offered small comments here and there, fanning those flames of assumption. Her report indicated it had been a male who had assaulted her. Assumptions came that it may have been a Courser sent to the task. That wouldn't have been terribly unlikely, in reality.

To say Elder Maxson was displeased with the news would have been an exceptional understatement. Had one listened carefully from the airport base of operations, it might have even been possible to hear the associated tirade at the news. As if this additional set-back somehow touched a nerve with their motivated leader.

But, it worked.

Orders were given for the Scribes to find additional sources of replacement power for Liberty Prime within the Commonwealth. Until such a time, the project was currently dead in the water. Armed with nukes and a disturbingly powerful eye laser, it was nothing if it had no ability to operate outside of the airport in which it currently stood.

Focus was given to the idea of temporarily leaving the Commonwealth in pursuit of additional supportive nuclear materials with which to run Liberty Prime. To locate, return with and initiate the giant robot. Scribes were pouring over documents to determine if this was a possible viable plan. Aged technical documents, stockpile reports and military intel were pulled from the archives and analyzed with great depth.

With all that was ongoing, little attention was paid to the comings and goings of the Paladin for now. Entrusted with a few recon missions to detail possible sites of information or to raid likely facilities for nuclear materials, no one seemed to mind her comings and goings. As long as she checked in. As long as her endeavors were fruitful. So long as those needs were met, the Paladin was often given nothing more than a passing glance.

Perfect.

* * *

Deacon was caught only slightly off-guard as the impact caused him to stumble a few steps back. The heel of his foot caught and suddenly the world tilted oddly around him before shoulders met the floor with a heavy thud. Grasping his jaw with a hand, he coughed and fought to regain the wind knocked from him just a second before.

“What the hell, Swift?” Dez’ voice rang out with heavy disapproval.

A drop with a note had redirected their Brotherhood insider to their temporary outpos via cryptic message not long before. It hadn't taken terribly long to find them, now that Reed understood the codes.

Gladen shook her hand slightly, knuckles tingling from the onslaught. A small split that oozed only a drop of blood could be seen on the central knuckle that had connected the hardest.

“No, no,” Deacon said with a cough from his place on the floor. Lips worked together and he spit out a glob of red-tinted saliva. “It’s alright. I... may have deserved that.”

Feet worked to regain leverage against gravity and the field agent came to stand upright once more with only a minor struggle. He shifted his jaw side to side slightly, checking its function before resorting to just idly rubbing the tender spot there. His other hand straightened his still-shiny silver aviator sunglasses that had been knocked slightly askew in the tussle.

“You shoot me again like that and I’ll be feeding your more than just my fist,” Reed said in a low tone of warning. 

“Hey, but it worked though, didn’t it?” Deacon flashed a smile. Red saliva stained his teeth. “They didn’t question you, didn’t even give you a second-glance.”

Reed tried to muster a glare at the overly charismatic field agent with his city-slang kind of drawl, but, he was right. A deep breath filled her chest followed by a sigh. The internal storm of chaos within her mind was somehow much lessened after throwing a fist at the assisting field agent. As if the bottled up emotion was somehow eased from that one act. Stray thoughts began to drift and settle on the occasional wondering of her lost companion, Danse. It was difficult not to think of him more and more as time went on.

“We should lay low for a bit. All of us,” Reed continued on, taking a moment to rub her temples in an attempt to banish the exhausted headache that lingered there. It was unrelenting the past few days. Then again, the commanding officer hadn’t slept much in recent memory. “I’ll do what I can to keep tabs on matters with the Brotherhood, and see what the word is out on the Commonwealth. So long as you all stay hidden, you should be okay for now. Gather what you may need over the next little while. It won’t be long until we’ll have to make our move on the Institute. I’d rather not get caught off-guard if our hand is forced sooner than we thought.”

“Agreed,” Desdemona surprisingly concurred.

The Railroad teams were currently operating out of temporary positions below ground of the main Commonwealth downtown core. Hidden away in the tunnels of the subway system in an attempt to keep from being found out. Avoiding large gatherings or meetings. Even here and now, it was only Desdemona, Deacon and Tinker Tom that were occupying this small maintenance area along the line, crudely retrofitted to serve as a temporary base of operations. A single dim light illuminated the area from a broken ‘EXIT’ sign and haphazard wires were strung from a nearby wall to operate a small makeshift terminal. Documents were roughly stashed in a nearby crate with a small gathering of provisions.

No doubt the Railroad agents had bug-out locations throughout the Commonwealth.

“I’ll check in with my resources on the surface,” Paladin Reed went on to say, suddenly wishing for nothing more than a bedroll. “Go through the motions with the Brotherhood for a bit, see what I can find out.”

“We’ll keep in touch as things progress here,” Dez was saying. Seems that Reed wasn’t the only one in need of a good rest.

“Stay safe out there,” Deacon chipped in, tone temporarily serious.

Reed huffed a half-smile before shouldering her weapon and picking up her full-faced helmet once more. Leather road leathers groaned and squeaked slightly as she moved.

“So long as you promise not to shoot me again,” she said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Hey, we all gotta play our roles to keep this train going,” Deacon held up his hands innocently. “Besides, you survived, so it couldn’t have been that bad, right?”

Slowly, she shook her head and feigned a look of warning, replaced her helmet and delved back into the feral ghoul infested tunnels without so much as a second glance.


	17. Out on the 'wealth

Matters within the Commonwealth seemed to come to a pause in the grand scheme of all that had been unfolding.

Following the destruction of the Railroad HQ and the disappearance of any grand sources of nuclear energy provisions within the immediate Commonwealth area, the factions there involved fell into a strange lull of silence. It was an eerie type of lull, not unlike that of a calm sea as a storm raged on the horizon. When that storm would land would be anybody’s guess.

It had been scarcely a month since her last interaction with the Railroad. A little over two weeks since last aboard the Prydwen. Recon groups were being deployed outside of the Commonwealth area, delving into regions outside the borders. So far, there was little luck in continuing with the Liberty Prime project. Discussion had been made about utilizing the Mark 28 nukes directly on-site of the suspected Institute entrance, but thus far it had resulted in mixed feelings with all of those involved in measuring the pros and cons. Mostly due to the vulnerabilities such an assault would incur. Liberty Prime would be such a sure success, in their eyes.

With some luck, the Railroad would be discussing their own tactics soon enough for their own invasion into the Institute HQ.

Reed tightened a bolt as the external casing of a security turret was put back in its place. Hands were slightly marred with grease and oil from the repair, as well as other tasks that she busied herself with while currently between missions. It was no secret that the Brotherhood Paladin held ties to the community of Sanctuary and its related settlements. To hide such a fact would have been folly long ago. Being open about certain things allowed for less suspicions when it came to other more serious matters.

“How’s it lookin’ up there?” Sturges called from the ground in a friendly manner.

Reed cast a smile down at the familiar face, “Looks to be operating at maximum capacity now. You were right. Chip got fried in that last radstorm due to a loose casing. Shouldn’t be a problem anymore, but keep an eye on it.”

Welding goggles dangled casually around the handyman’s neck, shifting slightly as he chuckled. “With you around, ain’t no reason ta be keepin’ me around no more, hey General?”

“Couldn’t imagine Sanctuary without you, Sturges,” she responded in kind, giving a nod as she tossed down the handful of tools towards the waiting local savant. Surely he could have done the repair himself, but it felt great to be keeping her hands and mind busy. There would be time enough soon to give thought to other serious matters. A quick wipe of the hands on a spare rag cleared most of the grease. Carefully, she hopped down from the rooftop.

“Any word?” Reed asked faintly, only enough for the mechanic to hear.

“Not yet,” he responded in a low tone, making a show of putting his tools away with care. “Don’t mean nothin’ of it. Merchant’s always run bit late ‘round these parts after a storm.”

It was true. Brahaman weren’t terribly fond of fickle weather. A large storm could send the product-laden bovine into a fit that would send them off for some time to come, or until the worst of the storm ebbed.

“Keep me posted,” Gladen said, tossing her dirty rag comically to Sturges with a playful smile.

It felt like she could breathe out here. Perhaps it was the open air, the constant breeze. The smell of plants and occasionally mutfruit from the trees in the blooming orchard. A cooking fire always brought with it hints of supper to come in just a few hours. Generators hummed as settlers made thorough work of their duties. Many of the settlers were here of the woman’s own hand. Faces that looked at her with familiar smiles. It was kind out here. Soft. Hopeful.

Not weak by any means. Their defense system was proof of that. Yet the people here weren’t broken any longer. They had purpose now. A sense of accomplishment with each day. None of them were forced to engage in raiding parties here. There was food enough for all, and pure water. So long as a settler was willing to pull their weight, they would receive the same food and water as everyone else within the community. Specialties developed over time. Each person was useful in more ways than one.

Metallic clanging announced the arrival of their scheduled merchant trader coming through town later in the afternoon, albeit a few days later than proposed. A massive steel-hammered bell hung from one of the necks of the twin-headed bovine pack animal. In the event of a storm or ambush, it would be easy to locate the creature at a later time wandering in the hills by the distinct noise.

Merchants were often flanked by hired guns to protect the goods. In this case, three were involved in this particular transport.

“Looks like we got ourselves some provisions,” Sturges called out to anyone within earshot, as if they may have misheard the distinct tinging bell. He was finishing up with reworking a weapon for Reed at the shop just beneath the central building’s overhang.

Sure enough, it was Carla with a whole slew of goods. Settlements had their own privatized transport caravans as well. However, outside caravans were more than welcome and often carried goods that were sometimes worth a second look or oftentimes hard to find. Sanctuary had a good reputation amongst the Commonwealth and greater area. Honest folks with a steady set of items for trade. It was worth the extra miles for an outside merchant to trek this far North.

Reed watched from the sidelines. Preston typically handled much of the negotiations when it came to matters directly affecting this particular settlement and its needs.

“Excuse me,” one of the hired guns approached the fiery-haired woman. A laser musket relaxed casually across both hands. A rusty blade had been crudely strapped to the front. At first glance, the hired gun may have appeared a casual attendee to the battlefield. However, he moved carefully. _Perhaps some experience, then._

“Yes?” the Vault dweller asked, raising an eyebrow as she regarded the stranger.

“Do you happen to have a Geiger counter?” he asked in an almost friendly tone.

Green eyes took a second look at the stranger. “Sorry, mine’s in the shop,” she responded in a similarly friendly manner.

“Ah, too bad,” the hired gun said with a shake of his head. With practiced subtly, a folded parchment of paper was passed to the waiting woman. “Sorry to have troubled you.”

“Not a problem,” she responded. The note slipped undetected into a pocket as she folded her arms over her chest.

A note from the Railroad. It would have to wait until later to be read. Right now she would make her rounds, help with the exchange of goods, help the merchants on their way and ensure that everything was in place for her departure. There was no telling what would be inside the note, but she could guess.

Most likely, a meet-up location to discuss their next step in the plan. Perhaps they had sorted out matters related to establishing new communication routes after the destruction of the HQ. Maybe even ready to begin gathering provisions and agents for the purpose of finishing their dealing with the Institute. It would be a dangerous undertaking. A small part of her wished that the note would be somehow related to Danse.

No one had heard anything from her missing synth companion since his departure eight weeks ago now. At most, a settlement had seen a patrolling Deathclaw not far from their stretch of land near the Western border. Aid had been called of the Minutemen to address the issue, least it return to strike in the night. Yet, no attack had come. When described, it had been characterized by a seemingly white face. Nothing more had come of that particular lead when pressed for more details.

For now, the woman leaned back against the central building and watched the exchange of goods as it took place before her. Excited faces. Light-hearted people. It was refreshing out here. She meant to enjoy it as long as she could before returning back to the dark underbelly of the Commonwealth’s problems.

* * *

It only stung a little as Dr. Carrington finished drawing a fresh sample of blood, withdrawing the metallic point and folding her arm back against itself with a press of gauze to stop any dot of bleeding that may result. The Vault dweller held it idly as Desdemona continued to fill her in on the details. Sounds of medical equipment being moved about could scarcely be heard in the background of their conversation.

“We received a few confirming reports about renewed activity at the airport,” the leader of the Railroad was saying. A lit cigarette danced through the air as she spoke. The bad habit seemed to flare up more readily in times of stress. Such as now. “We think that Liberty Prime may be up and running sooner than we thought.”

_No wonder the leader was smoking._

A part of Reed almost asked for a light herself at the news, but decided against it.

“Anything confirmed over the audio relays?” Reed was asking. Casually, she checked underneath the gauze of her arm. Only a red dot could be seen against her lighter skin where the needle had taken its sample.

“No,” Dez said with a thick exhalation of smoke. She flicked ash from the tip of the white shaft harder than was needed. “It seems they’ve established some type of radio silence, or are using multiple frequencies to elude the chance of us eavesdropping. We can’t confirm anything at this time, but activity would suggest renewed activation of the project. You know they’re not going to hesitate.”

_It was true._ Once Liberty Prime was ready to take to the field, it would be unleashed without question.

Time was now against them.

Reed hopped down from the island countertop, currently serving as Dr. Carrington’s makeshift medbay. The good doctor had setup shop in an old maintenance area that was hidden within the walls of the subway system adjacent to a nearby platform. A sign on the broken off door read ‘Employees Only’. Supplies were organized and put about with care. Many remained in crates or transport cases still.

“I’m sure the Institute relay only allows the transportation of myself, according to the coding attached to it,” she was saying. Partially thinking out loud, partially hashing out details so that Dez could provide her insight into their situation. It was getting serious now. “Even if I could get in, I’m not sure how I could help those synths escape unharmed. Nor could I possibly hope to fight against the security if it were to trigger an alert. One Courser was hard enough, and I had backup for it. Going in alone? To their base of operations? It would be suicide.”

“Tom has been thinking on that, and we may have a solution,” the woman said as she snuffed her cigarette out on the top of a nearby trashcan before tossing it harmlessly to the side. “He’s been developing a program that, if connected to the mainframe, could siphon off the details and codes for how to upload and grant access to an outside user for their teleportation relay. Right now, we don’t possibly know what those codes might be. But, if you were able to bring it back, we could create a bug based off of it. Return back to the facility, upload it and teleport those of us in before their security perimeters knew what hit them.”

“That’s… a lot riding on us being able to crack their codes,” the double-agent said carefully. Not one to openly judge their seemingly only option, but… It was questionable in its possibility of success.

“Yeah, I know,” Desdemona tried her best not to look defeated, although uncertainty danced across her features as they spoke. “But, if our hand is being forced, it’s one of the only options we have. Maybe even our only option. I know it’s a lot of faith to put into Tom and his abilities, and if it fails, well… then we’ll figure out what to do then. But in the meantime, he has been working almost non-stop on this program of his to hack into the Institute. Even if we can’t find a way in, maybe… maybe at least you can get there and warn them before the Brotherhood shows up. You know, save as many lives as you can, if it comes down to it.”

It was a heavy conversation that weighed on both their shoulders. It wasn’t going to be easy. The chances for things to go wrong, for people to get hurt… It wasn’t the first time the Railroad would face hardships and loss. Yet, if they could avoid it this time, they would do everything in their power.

“Look, I know this is asking a lot of you, Swift,” Des was looking at her with intensity now. “Especially now. You know we wouldn’t ask you to do this if we had any other options.”

_It was alright._

“I appreciate your understanding, Dez,” she said, managing to muster a soft smile. “And I promise you, it’s alright. I’ll do what I can so that we can save as many lives as we can. In everything. Synth, Railroad, my brothers and sisters in the Brotherhood, the people in the Commonwealth. I never went into this knowing it would be easy. But, if it works, then it’ll be worth it. _”_

“Just don’t go dying on us,” Desdemona tried to say with her slightly sarcastic sense of humor, an attempt to lighten the conversation. “Or Dr. Carrington is going to be pissed.”

Reed huffed a single humored laugh.

* * *

It hadn’t taken Danse as long as he thought to leave the greater Commonwealth area just after their exchange at Listening Post Bravo, crossing quickly past its geographical borders into a more deserted type of wasteland that lay beyond. Out here, merchants were scarce. Settlements even more so. People were few and far between, with the majority of them keeping heavily to themselves for fear of being attacked or pillaged. Shelters grew difficult to find at times. No longer in the shape of buildings or ruins but instead it was concrete pillars of a falling overpass, or in the rubble of some previous building that collapsed during the bombs that some could temporarily call home. Standing walls were coveted, fought over and readily claimed.

It felt odd to be without comrades, without a squad. To operate on his own without a true mission directive. To simply exist for the sake of existing until such a time as he felt it would be possible to return. Returning. It was a topic he gave much thought to over the miles. Wondering if he should ever truly return. Back and forth he would flip on the matter, analyzing it in this way and that. At times, it became infuriating, leaving him wondering if humans had the same problem of scrutinizing things until it became even more difficult to make a choice. Or if it was just life in his synth mind plaguing him with processes that made it so impossible to decide one way or another.

To leave forever would only solve a portion of his problems.

To return would risk his life, but then… then he may be able to take Reed with him, a thought that brought both warmth and a dull ache to his body.

Yet, if he stayed away and disappeared entirely, perhaps she could live out her life without as much risk. Imagining them on the run forever created a twinge of emotion in his chest. It was not the life she deserved. Certainly not for his sake.

But, then there came the question of what would happen if he failed to return or send word? Would she come looking for him? Would danger find her regardless, and him unable to protect her if it did?

Once again, he struggled with the concept of being a burden.

Still, he never traveled terribly far from the borders of the greater Boston area, even when his mind nearly convinced him to disappear entirely. Occasionally he would venture North, then South, but never terribly far West. Just out of patrol range for those that might call him enemy. Close enough to be only a handful of days from the more remote settlements if the need for provisions were to arise.

The concept of being able to send word had been a hopeful one at best, but was proving to be functionally more difficult once attempts were made to do so.

Haylen would be a logical means of communicating, but the risk there was too great. If they were to be found out… No, he couldn’t risk it.

Then there were the various caravans and supply lines that traveled between the various settlements, some of which had strong ties with Gladen, even from the very beginning of her venture into the Commonwealth. But, again, the risks were ever present. How could one send word without sending word? Perhaps a single note, or perhaps a verbal message? All of those posed their own challenges.

Days crested into one another with increasingly blurred concepts of time. Without care, it would be easy to lose track of the days completely out upon the wastes.

Danse became mindful of such a loss of time and began to do his best to keep a tally on such matters.

The X-01 Power Armor was an interesting piece of equipment. It didn’t fit him as comfortably as the T-60 had, but it would certainly do. Sturges had been a pleasant man to speak with during his brief stop-over in Sanctuary. No one really asked any questions, yet they were still more than willing to help in the time of need. The handyman had been quite skilled at getting the X-01 crudely fitted to the veteran officer. Danse had taken a few moments to note the differences in the models, asking only a couple of questions in order to feel comfortable operating the equipment out on his own.

Plating to the leg was indeed missing, but that could be come across later if need be. A few parts and panels needed upgrading as well. Merchants within the cities were always willing to help find certain items so long as a person had the caps to pay for it. Preston Garvy had been helpful in that regard as well.

“Not sure where you’re going or why you’re on your way, but it’s always best to have access to supplies,” he’d said, tone confident and authoritative. It was readily apparent that he was the main operations man within the borders of Sanctuary.

Offered to Michael had been a pouch loaded with caps. They shifted slightly with the familiar rattling sound.

“Thank you, but I couldn’t—“

“If Gladen sent you, then that’s all there is to it. No room for discussion. Take it. You might need it,” Preston had insisted.

Reluctantly, Danse had taken the caps.

It never ceased to amaze him the reputation his female companion had created for herself out here.

It proved helpful more than once.

* * *

Falling into old habits, the Deathclaw, Rook, and Danse took to patrolling for the most part. Even this far out, feral ghouls still managed to roam and cluster into groups that could easily threaten to overtake smaller traveling settlers or merchants. Radiation pooled dangerously in some of the lowlands. Feral ghouls were dangerous enough. Spending prolonged amounts of time in and around the heavily toxic pools only increased the threat the wandering creatures possessed. Some even began to glow over time.

It wasn’t much, but it kept the mind busy and did not allow for skills to fall lax.

Rook seemed to enjoy such antics more than the wayward veteran. Surprisingly, the creature was good company. Astonishingly social when given the opportunity and prolonged exposure. Intelligent. Able to follow fairly complex commands. It was even becoming clear that the juvenile Deathclaw was beginning to understand most of the words spoken to him, even going so far as to respond at times.

Still, it was his very species that made venturing too close to humans difficult.

“It’s not you, Rook,” Danse had explained after a particularly close and unwelcoming encounter. If anyone could understand what it was like to be treated poorly simply based on an assumption, it was the synth. “They just need to get to know you first, that’s all.”

Rook had rumbled thoughtfully as they walked.

Perhaps they had more in common than most would suspect.

Certain provisions began to dwindle in quantity as time continued on unbated despite best efforts of conservation. Considering the number of weeks that had passed, it wasn’t terribly bad at all. Mostly ammunition was running low, a commodity that Danse had apparently taken for granted slightly in the past. Another matter worth consideration being a replacement fusion core for the X-01. If possible, he might even need to take it to someone more technologically advanced than he. It was burning through power too readily, indicating a possible short or power drain on the fuel cell. Then there was also the plating that could also use a good once over and parts reinforced.

The goal would be simple.

Find a small, localized outpost or settlement on the very outskirts and see if they were willing to trade with a stranger. Or, see if there were any supply lines nearby that would be passing through in the next week or so that he could barter with instead.

That was the plan, however.

Yet, sometimes things had a way of taking a different course.

Dusk fell upon the wasteland as thought was given to finding shelter as the journey for provisions took them closer and closer to the greater Boston area. X-01 thudded rhythmically as the duo walked. Trees had begun again to grow plentiful the nearer they drew. Rolling hills. A drop in radiation levels to that of reasonable standards even by most accounts.

Even small shacks and outbuildings could be seen here or there upon the horizon. Some half-fallen with time, but others still standing. It wouldn’t be hard to find shelter now, he thought to himself with a sense of relief.

And yet, lights began to illuminate the distance. Flashes. Red and the occasional orange. Shouting interrupted the calm of the falling darkness. The sound of bullets echoed out dangerously over the landscape.

A gunfight.

 

 


	18. New Friends

How quickly it all came back was astonishing. There was no hesitation. Without even realizing, his boots were moving across the earth in distance-consuming strides. Laser rifle came swinging free of its position upon his back. Fingers readily finding their designated grip upon the weapon.

Beside him was the sound of Rook keeping pace. Lumbering footsteps that echoed like a distant thunder. The two would make quite the entrance.

It felt like it took ages to reach the scene of the gunfight. Or, more accurately, the raiding party.

Super mutants had pinned down a valiant group of merchants as they had been traveling the broken up asphalt highway of the western road. It was one of the dangers that came with wandering the Commonwealth. To walk the roads in day and in night. It was why hired hands often toured with the best of the merchants and barters, ensuring protection, transportation of goods and their safe arrival. Caps could motivate most gunmen within the Commonwealth.

But, when presented with situations like this, it was easy to see how many would break and run.

Without a second thought, Danse moved to join the fray.

“Keep them flanked, Rook!” he shouted towards his unlikely comrade.

It wasn’t the first time in recent history that they’d encountered a version of raiders. Rook proved time and time again his usefulness in the battlefield. Intelligence, speed and brute force often turned many of the scenarios to their favour.

Smoothly, Danse stroked the trigger of his weapon, successfully drawing the Super mutants attention as he skidded into cover halfway down the embankment of a hill adjacent to the scene. In a world of blues and purples, it was easy to feel overwhelmed in the dusk light. For most, perhaps. It no longer bothered Danse. Not for years. The HUD within the X-01’s helmet flickered with data relayed as the Super Mutants turned their attention to the newly arrived veteran of the field. The Power armor offered some protection, at least. Brown eyes focused on the targets in the half-light, brows lowering as his mind calculated logistics almost instantaneously.

There was confusion from the traveling merchants as an unknown joined their fight.

“I’m on your side!” Danse decided to shout towards the confused looks cast up at him from the road. Quickly, he ducked as bullets rattled against the concrete barricade that shielded him. Periodically, the veteran peered out and returned fire. A grunt rewarded his accuracy as an adversary fell heavily within the ranks. Two of the Super mutants pressed through their own line, covered with a hail of bullet from their brethren. Both of the advancing greenskins carried heavy melee weapons wrapped in all manner of sharp objects. A hard hit from either of them brought promise of a brutal death upon impact.

A few of the merchants stood shooting at the rushing green forms. They looked like deer ready to break and run.

It was then that a hulking figure equal in height to that of a Super mutant came crashing down the hillside. Small rocks and shale tumbled, clattering to the road below almost musically. Sounds of bullet fire mixed with the bellows of surprised ogres and an overly excited Deathclaw. Rook fell upon them with equal intensity. Adding his own growl to the mix, he shouldered one of the mutants, knocking him to the ground and leaping upon him without hesitation. It was the second who turned his attention to the naturally armored hellbeast, raising his razorwire wrapped club and hurling it mightily against the thick hide of Rook. Surprisingly, it managed to break the skin. Just barely. Unfortunately, only enough to do mild damage to the creature. Pale eyes spun angrily to greet the attacker. Leaving the first orge, Rook leapt instead upon the new assailant. Razor-shape claws began to return the favour of the assault.

Bullets from the merchants began to light up the scene.

“He’s a friendly!” Danse was shouting as he vaulted over his cover and rushed the scene himself. “Take out the Super Mutants!”

His tone was authoritative, strong and confident. Unflinchingly, he joined the batteground at its midst, dodging the hand-to-hand engagement that his companion was currently resolving as best he could. Super mutants within the ranks began to break and run as the Deathclaw changed their advantage.

Shouts could be heard behind the battle-hardened veteran. Supportive, directional. The shock of it all had worn off and once again the merchants were holding their own. Some even stepped from behind cover, following suit as Danse began to pick off the ones that were running. A glance to his left confirmed the defeat of the two melee mutants. Blood dripped victoriously from the jaws of Rook as pale eyes sought out other targets within the dark. The Deathclaw possessed far greater senses in the night than any human or synth.

Both were moving into the trees, following the wake of the retreating greenskins. Rook outpaced Danse easily and disappeared into the foliage with surprising ease. Danse hugged the butt of his laser rifle to his shoulder. Red flashes chased the disappearing forms. Some marks hissed with a successful hit.

Within his suit, the red flashes from his own weapon briefly threw off his vision, illuminating the visor with each round spent. Just enough to make it difficult to see peripherals within the confines of a helmet. Just enough to miss the red flashing that was not his own. Ears were lost to the pulsing sound of his laser rifle. It was only at the last moment he saw the approaching adversary. Only then that he realized he’d been outflanked.

Too late he turned and fired. Much too late. He was too close.

The suicide bomber detonated, colliding with the previously ranked officer.

A resounding boom sent a shockwave through the immediate area as the mini-nuke detonated without hesitation. Blinding light. Disorientation. Heat rolled violently across his mostly-protected body. Skin hissed from the heat where the plating gapped and was missing. Pings and the sound of metal warping were lost within the din of the explosion. Catastrophic suit failure in the compromised sections took place throughout the torso. It buckled like a can being crushed. Some pieces were ripped free in the blast, becoming weapons themselves as they cut and tore at the skin beneath.

He was tossed violently across the ground as the exterior of his suit smoked and crackled with red-hot edges.

Everything hurt. It felt like he was on fire.

As he came to a halt, he was hesitant to move. Pain flared through so much of his system that it was impossible to determine where it originated. It was difficult to catch his breath. He realized he was laying on his back, although it was hard to tell. It still felt as if he were tumbling. Carefully, he moved an arm. Then the other. One of his legs wasn’t working. Part of his torso felt cold, despite the rest of him feeling hot.

A figure appeared above him, shouting something off in the distance. The ringing made it difficult to hear.

Someone was removing his helmet.

Were they shouting something at him? He couldn’t understand.

Someone was applying pressure to his torso. At first, that may not have seemed so odd. It had been a rough encounter.

It wasn’t until he realized that he was wearing his power armor, and shouldn’t be able to feel anyone applying pressure at all. Not through armor. Confused, he tried to look down upon himself, but the motion made him dizzy. He sank back against the internal components of his armor. He reached with a hand and felt along the side.

Where there should have been armor was missing.

It hadn’t survived the blast.

No wonder he felt cold. Numb.

Where there should have been a part of Danse was also missing.

_Dammit._

* * *

 

There was no ease of returning back to consciousness. No soft lull of lights, sounds and reality slowly ebbing into the unconscious thoughts and rousing it to wakefulness.

It was just suddenly there, like a lightbulb being turned on.

Reality.

Painful, nauseating reality.

Scarcely, he noticed the feeling of something soft beneath him where there had once been Power armor and ground. Slightly disoriented, but for the most part fairly cognitive. Instantly he found himself tensing against the painful existence of consciousness. It took several moments for his eyes to focus in his surroundings. Memories of the explosion returned to him almost instantaneously. Of being thrown. Of tumbling. Of laying on the ground, unable to find out his source of pain.

“Holy shit, he’s awake,” came a voice not far from him.

They were in some sort of rundown building. Shafts of light pierced through the dusty air, illuminating like miniature spotlights throughout the room. Wooden walls, a wooden ceiling. Stairs off to the left. Boarded up windows rather throughout. An abandoned house, perhaps. Secure, from what could be seen. Suddenly, there was a face in his line of sight. It wasn’t familiar. The clothing and armor clarified that it was some sort of traveler. Most likely from the merchants the night before.

“We weren’t sure you’d ever wake up. How are you feeling?” the young male asked. He couldn’t have been out of his twenties. A bandana hung around his neck, along with a pair of goggles. He had piercing grey eyes and neatly trimmed black hair cropped close to his scalp.

“Like hell,” Danse managed to croak and cough.

Suddenly everything hurt. Violently. It was so surprising that he could scarcely gasp. Arms clamped heavily to his side in a reflex action. As if gripping the location would stop the searing bodily pain that locked him in its grip. It was blinding. Moving. Breathing. It caught him utterly off-guard.

A pair of hands were on his, then, holding his limbs in place as best they could.

“Whoa whoa! Easy! You’re knocked up pretty bad, ‘kay? Don’t mess with it. We’ve bandaged you up, but if we don’t get you to a medic soon, well… prognosis doesn’t look so good,” the young man’s voice was realistically honest, ending on a heavily empathetic note.

He held Danse’s arms until he was sure the wounded stranger wouldn’t injure himself further by fighting it. Sweat beaded Michael’s brow as he fought to calm down. He trembled slightly.

“How bad?” Danse managed after a moment. Knuckles were white as he found it impossible to relax entirely.

“Pretty bad,” the stranger replied. “You’re missing a good part of whatever is supposed to go there. Think you’re missing a rib or two as well. Stimpaks did a bit, but not as much as it needed. It’s still bleeding. Not sure if you caught any metal in the blast too. Can’t say for sure. Gonna see if we can’t get you in to see the local medic. Maybe, if you’re lucky, he can patch you up.”

“Not sure… they’ll be able to do much,” he knew how bad explosive wounds could be. If he was still bleeding after receiving Stimpaks, it wasn’t looking too good. Plus, that raised the question; _Could he even be… fixed?_

“Just ‘cause you’re a synth doesn’t mean the doc can’t help you,” the young man said in a surprising confident tone.

Danse was caught heavily off-guard.

“How did you…” he stared for a moment, trying his best to focus on the young man despite the world tilting around him.

The grey-eyed agent smiled.

“You’re not the only one around these parts,” he said in a friendly tone. “Plus, we could see inside you.” He made a face, “Well, at least, a part of you. Couple of subtle differences. Different synths get different upgrades too. You get used to spotting them. Although… it’s usually more difficult to tell with the living ones. Can’t see inside them, you know?”

“You’re… a synth?”

“Nah, not me. Work with a couple, that’s all. Part of the gig,” he said as he stood up and gathered a few items. Footsteps could be heard in the other room beyond. “We’re gonna have to patch you up real tight if you’re to make the journey. Got a ways to go. Wasn’t sure you’d be awake for any of it, to be totally honest. Glad to see you’re conscious. That’s a start. Once it’s dark, we’re gonna move and make it quick. I’d use some painkiller chems on you, if I could, but chances are it won’t do terribly much for you anyway. Sorry about that.”

Danse nodded slightly. He was growing more tired. Even talking seemed an effort.

Footsteps echoed against the wooden floor as another body entered the room. The wounded soldier had closed his eyes for the moment, swallowing heavily against the nausea that was clinging to the pit of his stomach. It was slightly worrisome that he could mildly taste blood. However, a familiar voice broke through the disorientation, through all the thoughts and pain. For the briefest of moments, he forgot he was injured.

“What the hell…? Danse?” the old school Boston cop drawl rolled out over the quiet of the temporary safehouse.

“Nick?” Michael said in surprise as he looked up at the familiar face. The glowing yellow eyes. Dusty fedora. Tan colored trench coat that had seen better days.

He never thought he’d be so relieved to see the detective again.

“Aww, _shit_ ,” the mechanical man said in genuine empathy, walking over quickly with an expression of utter surprise. “We gotta get you outta here. Keyson here sent word that he needed a hand bringing in an injured undetected. Didn’t think… didn’t think it’d be you, Danse…. I didn’t know.”

Michael nodded distantly, “Yeah, I didn’t either.”

An odd expression overcame the detective’s features. A mixture of sympathy, understanding and perhaps a bit of sadness there as well.

“We’ll get you out of here, I promise,” he said with a sincere tone, fedora nodding.

“Sorry, Danse… We gotta tighten these bandages up or you’re gonna bleed out on us once we start moving. It’s gonna suck, alright?” the grey-eyed agent said apologetically.

The previous BOS soldier simply nodded, “Let’s do what we have to do.”

It did hurt.

_A lot._

* * *

They set out before night had even really fallen.

Suppose risks must be taken when time was a relative factor.

It was easy to feel like a burden now. Strung between the two agents like some sort of limp body. One leg that was decent and enough to support some weight. The other unable to do much other than assist with every few strides or so. Danse was no small figure with broad shoulders and tall stance. Form was strongly muscled and etched from years of hard work and dedication out upon the field. It was no small task assisting him now. Yet, neither Nick nor the agent Keyson complained with the weight.

Nick stood easily and appeared minimally bothered by the additional load of an arm across his shoulders and a burden of weight with each step. Even Keyson, much younger, was doing remarkably well with the task.

Yet, as darkness crept over them, Danse began to lose track of time just slightly. A moment or two here and there. Then longer and longer bouts began to disappear from his cognitive brain. More and more he found himself returning to consciousness without even realizing he had slipped. It was they that held onto him now as they walked heavily, rather than he holding onto their shoulders.

Sweat beaded the veterans brow. He was beginning to feel exhausted as they navigated the tunnels of the old abandoned subway system beneath the Boston core. Everything hurt in a way that would not ease. A flowing pain that rippled along each nerve like a dull blade. It hurt to move, to flex, even to breathe. It was getting harder to catch a deep breath.

“Danse, hold on there, buddy,” Nick was saying to him.

They’d started talking to him, trying to keep him awake.

He’d done it before to the injured in his crew as well. Never had he imagined how hard it would be to obey the order to stay awake.

“It’s just up ahead, and then we’ll get you all fixed up,” Nick’s voice sounded as if it were being spoken from a distance.

Keyson, the grey-eyed agent beside him, was breathing heavily.

Were they walking faster now? It felt like it.

The tunnel was dark around them. It was disorienting.

This time, he felt the slip. The loss of consciousness. The way his sense seemed to be dragged away from him despite best efforts to hold firm of his reality.

He was tired, though.

_A few moments to rest his eyes might help._

* * *

“…anse?!”

It was a voice in the lull.

It was familiar. Yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Couldn’t quite remember anything, in fact.

Where was he?

He couldn’t feel his body.

“Da….se?”

There it was again.

Why wouldn’t his eyes open?

He felt a deep breath fill his chest. A dull and sharp ache.

Maybe he could open his eyes now.

It almost worked.

Feelings. A sense of body. It was coming back to him. A dull, tormenting pain. He could feel himself groan against it. _What was going on?_

“Danse, can you hear me?”

_Yes._

He could hear better now.

Somehow he was moving. Not of his own accord, though. Hands, arms, a supportive form that he was leaning against. Ground dragged beneath his feet. He struggled to put his feet down, to stand, but could scarcely move the limbs at all.

Everything felt tired.

Painful.

Like everything was slowly on fire.

Then there were sharp pains. It happened when he breathed, when he was moved at all. Sharp, piercing twangs of intense discomfort. He felt helpless against the onslaught of unrelenting sensation.

A hand was on either side of his face, lifting his chin.

That he felt easily. It was a gentle touch. Soft hands.

“Danse, please!”

It was the voice again. He knew it.

The memories were all foggy. All jumbled together. Maybe if he concentrated, he’d be able to figure it out.

_Rook?_

It was a name, but not the right one.

Slowly, the trickle of warmth to his chest. The soft whisper of emotion. A touch upon a memory in the fog. He nearly choked upon it.

_“Reed…?”_ his voice was a slurring whisper.

_But, where were they?_

He willed his lids to lift, to look before him.

A crack in his vision. Light. It made his mind scream. Everything hurt.

He wanted to tell them that everything hurt.

Suddenly, there was a new level of pain as he was hoisted. If he shouted, he didn’t know. It was white-hot pain for a moment, then subsided. Firm. Something firm beneath him. It was cold against his body. No longer were hands holding him up. No longer was he being dragged across the uneven ground draped across someone’s shoulders. Something supported him as he laid upon his back. Mind spinning with vertigo at the sudden change in angle.

Voices were around him, speaking quickly. Male voices and a female voice.

A hand was upon his face again.

He knew that touch, the softness of it. The familiar gentle way of it.

“You made it, hun… They’ll fix you up. I know they will. You have to hold on for me, though, okay? Michael, can you still hear me?” her voice was sweet, even in the whirling of his mind.

He saw her in his blurred vision. Lights behind her, making a silhouette of her figure. Copper-red hair framing a strained and worried face.

He wanted to reach up and pull her close. To touch that face and ease the worry from it.

_He’d be okay_ , he wanted to tell her.

Yet, part of him was worried too.

It was getting harder to keep his eyes open against the light.

Someone was administering an injection of some kind.

It was scarcely felt as his body remained engulfed in flames of pain.

He scarcely remembered slipping under, save for noticing the lights dimming.

He’d forgotten to touch her, to tell her it was all going to be alright.

_Dammit._

* * *

 

Danse was in a bad way.

When she had seen him, limp, pale, strung between the two carrying figures without a word, her heart had nearly stopped in her chest, the world around her coming to a crashing halt. Everything they were doing, all the trials and hardships they had overcome…

This was not how they were supposed to be reunited again. Not like this.

“He began losing consciousness about half a mile back,” Nick had said, gripping the fallen soldier and helping carry him with some difficulty.

It had been a blur after that. Hands stepping in to assist. Desdemona’s voice had rung out as she called for Dr. Carrington’s immediate assistance. Nick continued to hoist his share of the burden, unphased by the difficulty or long journey. Deacon took the place of Agent Keyson, allowing the tired young man a moment of rest after such a difficult and arduous journey. Reed stepped in as she called the officer’s name, hands on either side of his face as she sought out the eyes of a man she found herself missing deeper every passing day.

The lids were closed, face ashen, skin cool to the touch.

Reed had touched his face, called to him. “Danse… Danse?!”

Her companion and love had murmured distantly as if only half-aware.

“Bring him inside, quickly,” Dr. Carrington said as he took charge of the situation.

It was a helpless feeling. To stand and watch as others thrust themselves into the task of tending a fallen.

“You,” he had pointed at her. “You know him. Is he human or synth?”

“He’s a synth,” Gladen had managed to respond.

Without a response, the good doctor turned back to his tasks, barking orders to those that were familiar with both his medical approaches and the equipment they would be utilizing. As she knew neither, the young woman was unable to assist any further other than her presence and possible information about the current patient at hand.

“You made it, hun… They’ll fix you up. I know they will. You have to hold on for me, though, okay? Michael, can you still hear me?” she whispered to him as she stroked his pale and still features.

The ache of worry and fear in her chest threatened to do her in. It felt like heartbreak. She scarcely noticed her rushed breathing. Anxiety. Fear. Worry. Denial of what was taking place. It took all her effort not to break down inconsolably as the weight of the world threatened to crush her.

A lamp buzzed to life with the flick of a switch, followed by a second as the bright beams cut through the half-dark and were directed accordingly. Danse was laid upon the island workbench that sat in the centre of the room, acting as a makeshift examination table. A bloodpack was hung and squeezed in an attempt to bring a stronger sense of life back to the figure before them. The doctor was checking vitals briefly and administered two syringes directly into the chest cavity between ribs. Danse didn’t flinch, and appeared to be unconscious. Deacon was holding the dark red liquid IV, steadily applying pressure.

“Hang another one immediately after,” the doctor was instructing.

No one questioned his methods. There was none better in the Commonwealth when it came to the medical treatment of synths. It was why he had been driven underground, away from the people, away from his previous life. A hard man, sometimes easily frustrated or impatient, but it was his skill with the synthetic bio-humans that remained unmatched.

Bandages were cut free of the injured man’s torso, held tightly in place with good reason. As the pressure was released, blood began to flow anew. Slow, yet steady. Broken tips of bone could be seen within the angry red of mass and flesh that extended out across much of the upper abdomen. A glossy organ threatened to slip from the innards if given the opportunity to do so. Muscle had been blown away in dramatic fashion, leaving a gaping hole large enough to nearly fit two softballs. A metal piece or two could be glimpsed, lodged deep.

A quiet series of mutterings fell from the lips of the dark-haired doctor as he gathered a tray of items and began to busy himself within the wound. Pulling flesh this way and that. A finger or two probing the depth of the wounds.

All were thankful to some degree that the patient was unconscious for such an inspection.

Another bloodpack replaced that which was now empty in Deacon’s hands. It was hoisted high.

“Light,” Dr. Carrington barked. “I need more light.”

The helpless feeling continued on for some time as the doctor worked, stitching and reassembling whatever could be sutured. It seems Keyson had done right in his care in the field. It had gotten the demoted officer further than most would have. Even so, there was still no telling how the next few hours would turn out.

* * *

The night and morning had been the longest stretch of time she could remember in recent history.

Or, it felt like it, anyway.

Exhaustion no longer settled in her bones.

It was something else. Something beyond that.

It was a sense of tiredness that touched the soul, the mind, everything. Even her eyes felt tired. Exhausted. Drained. Physically. Emotionally.

She sat with her back to the cold concrete wall within the small infirmary.

Too tired to do anything.

Too awake to sleep.

It was a kind of purgatory.

Danse had survived, somehow.

He lay resting with pale features and ashen face upon a small cot that had been gathered from somewhere within the vicinity. It was warmer than laying upon the cold steel slab of the workbench. Warm blankets had been laid across the injured man. It would be crucial to keep him warm over the next few hours. Even a small space heater buzzed not far from where he remained unconscious, banishing some of the underground’s chill.

No organs had been catastrophically damaged. Two ribs were gone, but his diaphragm was still intact and functioning, although bruised and battered. A collapsed lung and internal bleeding had caused some concern as it spanned over the majority of his upper abdomen. A variety of cracked bones and burns had shocked the system. Bruising on the liver too, and a few other organs that were likely phased. Plus, the amount of muscle that had been torn from one another was enough to warrant worry as to how it would mend as time went on. A smaller person would have not been so lucky.

Still, it would be a trying couple of days.

Even being a synth, he was still a living being. Created biologically, after all, and subject to infection. It couldn’t all be repaired at once by piggy-backing Stimpaks. It would have to be done slowly. Dr. Carrington, fortunately, was able to suture and stem any major bleeds as well as close up the majority of his open flesh wounds until the body could begin repairing at a higher efficiency. Repairs would take resources. With the blood loss that had occurred, resources would take time to operate fully. It would be a waiting game. Once out of the woods, it would proceed smoothly from that point on.

Someone sat beside her. Reed scarcely recalled hearing footsteps.

“Carrington says it might be a little while until he’s conscious,” it was Deacon’s voice. “Probably some head trauma too. Keyson says it was a bomber at close range during a raiding party. Danse just got caught in the middle of it all. He had their back when times got rough. Just… wrong place, wrong time, you know. Keyson said he pretty much saved them. Turned the tables. Luckily, it was one of our groups he’d stumbled into. So he was in good hands from the start. Probably what got him this far. Don’t worry so much, Swift. I’m sure he’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

Reed nodded slightly.

Part of her still worried.

“Is this… this is the synth you were talking about, isn’t it?” his tone was respectful.

“Yes,” she managed to choke out slightly against the lump in her throat. Using the back of her hand, she wiped off the moisture from her cheeks.

Deacon nodded knowingly. “He’s lucky to have someone like you that cares about him so much,” he said without any hint of sarcasm, joking or witty banter. A reassuring hand came to rest on her shoulder for a moment, giving it a slight squeeze. “Trust me on this, he’s going to pull through. You’ll see. Get some rest, hey?”

It was a kind gesture, one she hadn’t realized she’d needed.

 

 


	19. It Begins

Sleep came with surprising ease and lasted much longer than she would have liked.

Still, it was needed. The Vault dweller had been pushing herself a lot in recent weeks and the consistent lack of sufficient rest had begun to affect her more than she realized. No doubt Desdemona would have something to say about that if she continued to push herself too hard. If the leader of the Railroad was anything, it was a mother hen. Always intent on ensuring those around her were well cared for, keeping themselves well-supplied and at optimal function.

Danse had still not awoken from his ordeal.

Luckily, color had begun to return to his features slightly. A faint touch of color that banished the worrisome grey that had once dominated his skin tone just several hours earlier. It would be touch and go for a time, but already there was visible improvements.

“They’re different,” a voice startled her. A warm bowl of noodles was placed in her hand as the sarcastic field agent rejoined her once more. Reed hadn’t even had a chance to exit her makeshift bedroll placed within the infirmary before being served a glorious bowl of Tom’s special noodles. It was heartwarming. _How long had she been asleep?_ “Not totally different, but different enough. Dr. Carrington’s the best in the biz for patching up synths.”

The smooth-talking figure grabbed a seat on the floor, back against the wall as he ate his own bowl of liquid breakfast beside her. The golden broth steamed gloriously in the cool air. Even a few vegetables graced the recipe this morning.

“I’ve seen the synths produced,” Reed added gently to the conversation. Grateful hands cradled the bowl of food. Stomach growled excitedly. It had been a while since her last meal.

Deacon gestured with a bent fork, “Yeah, some type of bio-engineered soup that gets strung along other assembled biomatter and programmed accordingly. Most of the batch is a type of stem cell. Or so the theories go. It would explain how they’re able to produce synths with different DNA sequences. A blank slate that then gets given its biological designation and differences afterwards. Otherwise, they’d all look alike and be, well, clones. And have identical DNA. It would be ingenious, if it wasn’t so horrific.”

Green eyes cast downward as she pushed at the noodles with her fork. “They’re really not so different,” she mused quietly.

Deacon didn’t respond immediately, almost as if he hadn’t heard.

“No, they’re not so different at all,” he said after a time, blowing on a forkful of noodles. 

* * *

It was nearing the second night of his arrival that the injured officer began to find himself conscious once more.

A throbbing headache drummed within his skull as if a Super mutant were swinging about a club within and striking every few moments. Everything felt sore. Muscles, joints, skin. It even felt as if the bone ached along much of his body. As the fog of his mind began to clear into a true sense of consciousness, it was both easy and difficult to recall what exactly had happened.

He remembered the explosion to an extent. Nick. A sense of being dragged. Lights. Feeling like he was on some medical examiners table.

Apparently, that had not been a dream.

Slowly, Danse did a mental check in of his body.

A flex of the hands. A deep breath, which proved to be a terrible idea. One of his legs felt fine. The other was tender, tight. Majority of his pain seemed to be centered along his entire upper body. A cautious hand moved slowly beneath the blankets. Fingertips gingerly touched along his right side. Bandages were taped tightly. Gauze wrapped around his torso. Even the slightest touch drew an angry flare of renewed sensitivity to the area. Beneath the bandages did not feel right. It caved inward rather than held firm like it normally did.

No wonder it hurt.

“How are you feeling?” a female voice said quietly. Not enough to startle.

It wasn’t Reed.

Danse slowly blinked and tried to focus. A blurry figure was leaning back against the nearby countertop. Vision began to clear the more he blinked.

Moving his tongue yielded a mouth texture more akin to that of sandpaper.

“Like… hell,” he managed to rasp, swallowing as best he could.

“Ah, good. That means you’re still alive,” Desdemona said in her usual tough way. Ever the mother-hen, she walked over and helped Danse with a small cup of water. Normally, she was not one to play nursemaid, but it was good to see the synth awake. “You had us quite worried there when you first came in. Delirious. Incoherent. Dr. Carrington does incredible work, though. You were damn lucky.”

Despite how he felt at the moment, the wayward soldier was inclined to agree on his luck.

“Looks like you might be out of the woods for the most part,” she went on to say in the dim medlab. “Give yourself some time to rest. Don’t push it. I mean it. I’ve taken out tougher men than you. You blow your stitches and you’ll be wishing you’d listened to me. Rest up, then we’ll see about some more rounds of healing chems to get you back on your feet.”

“Affirmative,” he said, speaking more easily with a moist throat. Brown eyes looked around slowly so as to not trigger his vertigo. “Is… Is Reed here?”

Part of him wondered if he had simply imagined her in his delirious state.

“Yeah, she is,” Dez said kindly. “I’ll go find her for you.”

Danse found himself relaxing with a sigh against the cot beneath him, closing his eyes. Although he wasn’t sure exactly where he was, who these people were or why Reed was with them, there was such a sense of relief after all this time. All the weeks past. Of losing his identity, his everything. That in losing himself, he’d been forced to leave. It had been painful, of course. But, knowing she was here made him realize just how difficult it had been without her. Deep down. He realized it now.

There were arms around him, then. Suddenly. Gentle. Careful. Mindful in their needing embrace. She moved tenderly, cautiously, not wanting to hurt him. With some struggle, he removed his leaden arms from the warmth of the blankets and pulled her gently close to him. Despite the pain, all he wanted in that moment was to feel her close.

“I was so worried,” she whispered through tears of relief, releasing him after a moment to sit back on her heels beside his cot.

Her voice was as he remembered it. A tone that made his heart race whenever it spoke to him.

“I’m okay,” he said. A calloused hand reached up to cup her cheek as his gaze sought the soulful green orbs that he remembered with such fondness. They were as wonderful as he remembered, even in their tearful state. The slightest smile brushed his features, stabbing pain be damned. “I’ve missed you.”

Her lower lip trembled slightly as she took a breath, putting her hand upon his as it held her cheek still, “I’ve missed you too. It’s been so hard without you.”

Part of him twisted. A pang of regret. He was supposed to be the one taking care of her. “I know,” he took her hand and held it as his tired arm fell back to rest across his chest. Everything within his limbs felt as if they were weighted down with lead. As if he had run the length of the Commonwealth in a single sprint until he collapsed. Joints were throbbing with ache. “I should have stayed,” he said quietly.

Reed shook her head, copper-red tresses falling about her shoulders. They both knew that it had been the best choice for him to go. To stay away from the Brotherhood and their zealous actions against synth-kind. “No,” she said, squeezing his hand in reassurance. _How she’d missed the way her hands seemed small when compared to his._ “It was to keep you safe. That’s why we did it. I just… I wish it had kept you safe,” she said, voice tight.

Danse’s brows furrowed slightly with concern. “It’s nobody’s fault, Reed,” he said with honesty.

It was true.

The Commonwealth would forever be a dangerous place. Either by Raiders, or Super Mutants, or Mirelurks, or Deathclaws. Swarms of feral ghouls. Hidden landmines. Now, there was also the Brotherhood that could become a threat. Factions that disagreed with one another. Even settlers could pose a problem. And then there was the Institute of all things.

It was true that it was nobody’s fault, and that neither of them could have planned to avoid a happening such as this.

“Whoever these people are… they saved my life,” Danse said as he felt himself drained of energy with each passing moment. “And for that, I am grateful.”

His companion smiled, then. It cut through the tears upon her cheeks and the sadness in her gaze. It was warm, kind. It touched her eyes. A smile that was easily contagious. “Me too,” she replied. Carefully, the Vault dweller leaned and placed a gentle kiss upon his lips. So fleeting, so delicate that it felt as if it were merely a glancing touch. Still, it was enough to bring a warmth back to his chest and body amidst the discomfort.

“Sleep, get your strength back,” she said softly. A voice for his ears only. _It reminded him of how she softly spoke during the morning hours when both would wake in the same bedroll._

Danse nodded slightly. He was not one to argue this case.

It felt as if he had been run over by a Deathclaw.

Perhaps a few hours rest would take the edge off, at least.

* * *

Paladin Reed stared at the holotape in her hand. A simple device. Yet so crucial.

On it held the coding Tinker Tom had created exclusively for this venture.

There would be no telling what would happen next.

Her brows lowered slightly with resolve.

Around her was nothing but the slight chill of the underground subway station. Tracks long ago silent. No screeching of metallic wheels against steel tracks. No bustling humans pushing past one another in an attempt to get to work on time. No trains arriving, no trains departing. There were no tickets, no vendors. It was silent. Empty.

A radroach rustled through some garbage nearby.

“Are you ready?”

Righteous Authority hung at her back, just in case. This would be an in and out mission.

At least, that was the plan.

Brain was making a tally of her pre-mission check. Of packing her ammunition. Of her weapon. Secondary weapon. The holotape. Her instructions. What the plan was. Imagined it in her mind. Each step. Each task that would needed to be executed to perfection.

A tightness crossed her features. Fingers wrapped dutifully around the holotape before tucking it securely within her road leathers. Brown fatigues that boasted only mild protection against the security seen within the Institute.

It would be a risk.

In and out.

“I’m ready,” she answered without any question.

“You know the plan. In, and out. Retrieve the data and we’ll do what we can upon your return,” Desdemona stood before her, arms folded across her chest in a serious posture.

“I’ll come out near the C.I.T. building,” Reed reminded them, glancing at Deacon and seeing her own reflection cast against his sunglasses.

“We’ll have eyes on you,” Deacon confirmed. His tone was an odd mixture of seriousness and joking. _Only he would be able to pull off such a confident nonchalance._

“Good luck,” Dez said with a nod.

Reed raised her left arm and clicked through the settings on her Pip-Boy. Familiar dark screen scrawled with electric green letters and symbols. Menus and miscellaneous screen options. A few dial clicks took the selection to the Institute chip designation within the arm-held computer.

A blinking light hovered over the confirmation screen.

With a breath, she glanced at Dez.

“Keep an eye on him for me,” Reed asked.

A promising nod was the response.

_Click._

The selection verified against the server, and suddenly, blue light crackled all around like a localized storm of lightning. It struck all around her, suddenly loud. A chaotic wind rustled the nearby papers for scarcely a moment before everything died away.

No more light. No more noise. No more wind.

A few pages fluttered to the station platform.

Where the Paladin once stood was now only empty space.

* * *

“So, I see you have returned.”

Reed stood within the quarters that belonged to the man she sought. Shaun. Her Shaun. Or, what had once been her Shaun. Now before her was that of a man. Elderly. Old. Raised in a world away from the real world. Born of ideas that were both brilliant and, yet, corrupt in their exclusion. It would be difficult to shine light upon that corruption if one were to try. Here and now. So lost were they to what was possible that none had stopped to ask if it was right for the world.

Perhaps down here, it was right.

For them.

Had they stayed down here… had they left the surface to its own device and they to their science, perhaps there would not be a rift. Perhaps they could have existed without the need for drastic measures. Yet, the scientists had struck at the surface, and the surface would not be partial to sitting idly by.

In their assumption that those above were fools, they themselves became the biggest fools of all.

“The Brotherhood moves to destroy you,” Gladen said as she stood without malice in her posture. Spoke without anger. It was a deadly calm. Duty. She was on mission point as she stood before the grey-haired man.

“Do they now,” Shaun mused thoughtfully, feigning a moment of ignorance. “And you would come here to… warn us, I take it?”

_Fools, all of them._

She sighed with a slight frustration, “Do what you will with the information, but give people a chance to decide for themselves what to do if the time comes. You think you are safe here, but you don’t know how deep the hate lies within the Brotherhood.”

Shaun regarded her from his bed for a time, thoughtful. “And what would you have me do, mother? Create fear? Create a sense of… panic? Evacuate?”

Green eyes were intent, “Give them the chance to decide what they would do if the time comes. Warn them of an impending possible threat. If your walls and your secrecy keep them at bay, then there will be no need to worry. You will be safe, all of you. Yet, if it fails… what will you do then?”

“I believe your concern is warranted, but unneeded,” Shaun said almost dismissively. _As an adult would speak to a child._

_So, it was decided._

“Then I’ve done all I can,” Gladen said without remorse. A dignified resignation. “You know I cannot live down here.”

Shaun drew a deep breath, edged with a slight wheeze. “I understand, in a way,” he said methodically. “And yet, I can’t understand your desire to be up there. To live in a dead world. Scratching at the ground, devoid of hope. I don’t know why you can’t see that the Institute… its humanity’s hope. What we have accomplished down here has been above and beyond anything done above ground. We saved more humanity within these walls than could be revived in that… wasteland.”

“Perhaps if you had invested all your great skills into the world above, you may have changed it for everyone, not just saved it for yourselves,” she said with an edge to her tone. “What happens now will happen. I’m sorry, Shaun. I tried.”

The leader of the Institute nodded slightly, although the kindness was gone from his features now. “Then, this is goodbye, mother,” he said in response.

“Goodbye, Shaun.”

Without any further exchanges, the two parted ways.

Reed descended the spiraling staircase, the leather of her protective gear groaning softly with each stride. Hospital-white walls flowed by without so much as a chip in the paint. Everything was still as pristine as ever. Clean. Glossy. It was safe here. The people felt safe here.

Woe to them if the Brotherhood succeeded. What a shock would happen if the bombs were to fall here.

Yet, there was still a chance to stop it.

Reed could practically feel the presence of the holotape within her possession. The plastic edges. The slight weight of it against her pocket. A possible way to bring those in that wished to help. To evacuate those that wished to leave.

And the chance to do so before the Brotherhood would destroy them all.


	20. Everything Changes

Groggily, he would wake. Briefly. For short intervals. It wouldn’t be long until he would feel it again. Tired. Exhausted. A soft lure to return back to the unconscious world without feeling. There were some dreams, of course, but they were disjointed and made no sense.

Time within the small room seemed such a foreign concept. There was no way to measure time passing beneath the ground. No clocks. No tally of days spent within the bed. Had it even been days? It could have been only hours as far as he knew. It was disorienting to say the least. Time, however, was indeed passing. One could tell by the comings and goings of people in the room beyond. Occasionally the sound of conversation drifted over his senses. Too far away to hear exact words, but it broke the monotony of it all.

It was a pinch that woke him now. A mild irritation in the torrent of feelings. A coolness spread up his side from it. Stimpaks always had a strange sensation when being administered. It roused him from his blank thoughts and empty dream world.

Dr. Carrington was busying himself as he put aside the empty Stimpak on a nearby tray, followed by scribbling upon a piece of paper that was set off to the side with his findings. They were, of course, tracking the patient’s progress and response to the medications he was being given. Some synths responded differently than others, depending on their upgrades or bio-alterations.

“How are you feeling?” the medical man asked without turning around. His accent was somewhat unfamiliar.

Danse took a moment to think about it. Head was a bit clearer now, no longer plagued with vertigo or the world spinning around him nauseously. Where had once been nearly unbearable pains to his chest now were reduced to that of only a stabbing sensation; An improvement. It was still difficult to breathe deeply. It was still too tender to really move. Yet, he was noticing he was awake for longer and longer periods of time.

“Better, I think,” Danse responded with normal deep tones of his voice. “Doubtful I could stand, though.”

The doctor nodded along slightly, jotted some further notes and then made the rounds of checking his patient’s progress. A blinding light to each eye. Physical check along the skull, asking if anything was painful. Strong hands poked and prodded at areas that proved to be immensely tender when examined, drawing a sharp breath or two as the former soldier gritted teeth against the examination.

It was only now that the former soldier realized just how lucky he had been as he could see more easily the extent of the damage he’d sustained.

Burns were beginning to knit and mend across the majority of his torso from the blast. Heat had also ravaged his left leg, exposed to the flash of searing nuclear heat due to its lack of plating. It explained the tightness and inability to use it just yet. Fortunately, the skin was already mending in those areas. The feeling of tightness beginning to ebb. Flash burns could also be found at small junctions along his body, gaps in the plating of the armor where the seals had failed. Luckily, none were above the neck.

Matters of the void in his chest, however, were rightfully disturbing. To look down upon himself was to see a distinct difference in matter from the left to the right of his form. A void was seen upon the right of his body. Where should have been ribs holding flesh supportively was an inwardly turning crevice that bore only bandages. Where should have been muscle was missing. Had he tried, it would have been easy to fit a closed fist within the wound. Perhaps even nearly a second.

Normally not one to be troubled by wounds, it was the very concept of it that made him feel slightly ill to think about.

“You’re lucky,” the doctor said with his unfamiliar touch of words. “Some synths don’t respond as readily to Stimpaks as you.”

Right about now, Danse was appreciating with gratefulness that luck.

“How long until I can get back to normal function?” he ventured to ask.

“Meh,” the doctor gave a bit of a half-hearted shrug. Not dismissively, just in thought. “Probably a week would do best. But, seeing your kind before, you’ll probably be at least up and walking sooner than that.”

He nodded. _That was good news, at least._

Brown eyes watched as the doctor gathered a few items, changed some of the bandages and drew another small vial of blood for analysis. However, even Danse had to turn away from the gaping hole in his chest as the bandages revealed the gruesome damage beneath. It was hard to look at. Had it been another person, perhaps he could have mustered resolve. Yet, in his weakened state, he would readily admit his desire to put his gaze elsewhere.

“Hey-hey, look who’s up,” an upbeat, smooth-talking voice rolled into the medbay with a confident saunter. “Good to see you awake, pal. Gave us a run for our money with that one, huh?”

Danse wasn’t quite sure how to respond to the stranger that approached him. Tired eyes watched as Deacon pulled up a casual chair, sitting not far off from the bedside, angled more towards the open room than directly facing the patient. He didn’t want to come across too strong.

“I guess I did,” the former BOS soldier responded. Despite the exhaustion, it was good to have the company, strange though it was. “I’m grateful to you all.”

Dr. Carrington was busy with his work. If he’d heard the thanks, it went unrecognized. He wasn’t a type for small talk, feelings or chit-chat. Deacon, however, thrived on any kind of communication. Silver aviators reflected the room around them. A smile came to the agent’s lips, flashing white teeth as he leaned back in his chair. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans.

“Yeah, no problem! We’re glad we could help you out. Not every day that we have new synth stumble into our midst in that kind of manner,” Deacon’s tone was still upbeat. “We’d have helped you regardless, you know, but when Swift recognized you… well, _shit_ … We had to try and keep you alive.”

“Swift?” Danse stared at the man, confused.

“Ah, right, my bad,” the agent said with a wave of his hand. “She goes by a different name with you. Reed, right? Given the sensitive nature of our group, well, it’s not always the best idea to go by our real names. Can cause some real trouble if things get hairy. So, we just call her Swift. Keeps things simple out in the field or when we need to relay messages through potentially compromised means.”

“Who are you people?” Danse ventured to ask. He could probably guess at this point.

Deacon spread his hands, “Surely you’ve heard of the Railroad, my friend. Underground group of agents that smuggle run-away synths out of the Commonwealth, away from the Institute and into a new life.”

 _The Railroad_. His hunch proved correct. In the past, the name might have come with some pre-conceived notion or reaction. Rebels, they were. Aiding synth scum. A group to be monitored, tracked and, eventually, wiped out for the betterment of the Commonwealth. It would have been the Brotherhood way. Yet, things had changed now. Not all synths were the enemy, Danse had come to realize. Perhaps, then, not all people helping synths were enemies either.

It was still a struggle to give up past perceptions when it had been ingrained for so long.

Yet, what was Reed doing here…?

“Where is Reed?” the former Paladin asked, glancing around slightly.

“Out,” Deacon said, leaning forward in his chair. He clasped his hands in front of him. His tone had immediately switched into that of a serious manner. “She’s out on a mission operative at the moment. Time sensitive. She should be back in the next little bit, if all goes well.”

It felt as if the agent was being vague. A gut feeling that Danse had as he regarded the agent. “Where is she, exactly?” he asked again, tone firm.

Deacon stared at him a moment from behind the reflective lenses of his sunglasses, measuring and weighing thoughts within his mind. Finally, he relinquished, “She had to go back to the Institute.”

No wonder he had been hesitant to say anything. The words hit Danse like a strike to the gut. He closed his eyes and took a breath. “Is she alright?” he pressed. In his condition, there was no way he could do anything now to change matters. Not even argue. As frustrating as it was, Deacon was his source of intel in this moment.

“Yeah, she should be alright, despite how she’s been feeling lately,” Deacon said, tilting an outstretched hand back and forth as if unsure. “Tough girl, that one. We didn’t really want to send her, you know. Not with everything that’s going on. But, she’s the only one with access. At least for now. With the re-activation of Liberty Prime, well, we didn’t have a choice but to send her in. Had to.”

Part of him wanted to yell about it, to challenge the idea. Yet, he knew Reed. More than anyone else probably did. Determined. Seemingly fearless. There would be no one person who could ever force her hand or motivate her to undertake a task if she didn’t want to do it in the first place. Still, it sat poorly with him. There was no telling if she would make it out of the Institute alive like she had before. Frustration tightened his features. Finding her again had made him realize what he would give to have her near. To know now that she was still risking her life… It felt wrong.

“It’s alright,” Deacon said, lounging back again casually in his chair. “Dez and Dr. Carrington have been taking good care of your girl.”

“I don’t think he knows,” Dr. Carrington said with a sidelong glance to Deacon before returning his focus on shaking a vial, lifting it up to examine it as the liquid within changed from a clear pink to a deep purple shade. Again, he returned to writing notes in his doctor’s hand. Illegible to most if they were to glance at his documentation process or try to read the writing.

Deacon rolled a look towards the doctor, crossed a leg and slightly bounced the limb in short movements. An arm draped casually over the back of the chair. “Yeah, well, it’s not confirmed yet either, so,” the field agent responded.

“It’s confirmed,” Dr. Carrington said, although this time he didn’t look up. He was writing still.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Danse asked, unsure of what was going on.

“Well, yeah,” Deacon said with a flash of white teeth. “’Course! Couldn’t go rattling off unless we knew for sure. But, looks like everything is good now.”

“What are you talking about?” Danse said with a hint of irritation.

Deacon once more leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees as he continued to gesture with his hands slightly. “Well, don’t get me wrong, you’re still a synth,” he said with a wave. “But, you got something different about you in your coding. DNA coding. See, most synths are modified and given upgrades. Yours, well… It just… _works_. Biomechanically speaking, that is. I mean, sure, they re-enforced some of your bones and internal structures to be more hardy. We’ve been seeing that for a while. But, overall, you’re practically indistinguishable from a human, once you get down to the basics of it all. Maybe a chip in your skull too. Most synths have that. A kind of programming. But, anatomically and genetically, you’re pretty damn human in the big scheme of things.”

“And what does that mean, exactly?” Danse felt strange, as if… as if having part of his identity returned. To feel comfortable in his skin more than he had in a long time. _Maybe he wasn’t so different after all…._

“Well, it would explain Swift’s condition,” Deacon said with a shrug. “Turns out, it’s true.”

“Condition?” the former Paladin was struggling to discern what the agent was talking about.

“Dr. Carrington confirmed recently that she’s pregnant,” Deacon said almost casually, although a smirk played across his features at the words. “She told us a bit about you. Hard to believe, you can imagine. But, despite suspicions about it, looks like that’s accurate. It’s why Dr. Carrington has been keeping an eye on her, making sure everything is going well. Now, being able to confirm it here with you, looks like it’s legitimate. See, Danse? You’re more human than you thought.”

* * *

_What?_

He held his head for a moment with both hands, fingers running back through his black tresses as he stared at the ceiling. After a moment of holding the heavy limbs aloft, he let them fall unchecked back to the bedside. Heart and mind both racing as the news washed over him with tingling realization. Words failed him for the most part, despite all the questions that were rattling around within his skull. Barely, he noticed the still-present dull ache of a concussion. For a moment, even the wounds and ache of his bones, flesh and body were cast to the background of his thoughts.

_It couldn’t be true._

_Could it?_

Questions flooded his mind. Questions about how it was possible, with him being a synth? When? For how long had they known? Was that why she was here? Dr. Carrington? What… what were the possible outcomes? Would everything be alright?

“But… how?” Danse managed to work the words from his lips.

Deacon raised an eyebrow in exaggeration, “Surely someone explained to you how this kind of thing happens, man. I mean, I could explain it, if you want me to, but… uh… Seems pretty straightforward on how she ended up that way, right?” his tone was slightly teasing.

The former Paladin managed to muster an irritated glance.

“Okay, okay,” the field agent held up his hands in surrender. Tone fell serious once more. “We actually aren’t too sure how this all works. It’s the first time we’ve ever seen a case like this, between a synth and a human. Not to say it can’t happen, we’ve just never seen it firsthand. I mean, there are other instances of synths and humans being together, but no reports of any success related to it. That’s why Dr. Carrington has taken an interest in learning more about you, and your partner, for that matter. Look, we don’t know how this will go. Just too early to tell. But, we’ve been looking out for her while you were gone. We don’t want anything happening to her any more than you do. Trust me,” Deacon’s tone was genuine as he spoke.

It was overwhelming.

Danse drew a slow breath, willing his mind to focus.

“You alright there, Danse?” Deacon asked.

The former Paladin took a moment in responding, blinking at the ceiling before glancing at the field agent. He gave a slight nod, “I… uh, yeah. I just… I need a minute to process all of this.”

_It would probably take more than a minute, truthfully._

“Yeah, man, take your time. It’s a lot to take in,” the field agent was surprisingly understanding. “I’m going to grab us something to eat, yeah? See if maybe you can’t keep something down. Get your strength up. All that jazz.”

Again, Danse nodded slightly, although he wasn’t quite listening to the agent anymore. Scarcely noticing as Deacon rose to leave the room. Dr. Carrington had slipped away again at some point during their conversation. A secretive gentleman with seemingly silent footsteps and a talent for slipping away unnoticed.

Emotions were stirring deep within his chest as everything began to sink in. The truth of it all. Who these people were. What had just happened. And the information he’d been suddenly presented with. It suddenly changed everything. Their plans. Their future. It felt as if a part of his identity had been returned to him. Almost as if given permission to feel… human again. To stop the spiral of defeating thoughts about his plight as a synth. To feel comfortable in his own skin.

He looked at his hands, flexing them slightly in thought. They seemed real. All of him seemed so real.

He may have been a synth, but he had been a fool to try and run from it.

He acted emotionally, and that had been wrong.

A strange resolve settled over him in the quiet of the infirmary as he stared at the ceiling.

There was no question anymore about whether to leave or stay.

Danse couldn’t help a brief swell of emotion that took his breath away for just a moment.

Everything had changed.

Suddenly, he had purpose again, in a way his mind could scarcely grasp. He could feel it.

He couldn’t run anymore.

* * *

“Yes, we are going the right way,” Nick said with irritation for the third time.

The sun was at its zenith as they walked, shadows shrinking as the noon-day sun warmed the world around them with its unrelenting glow. A green haze etched along the horizon if one were to look close enough, tinting the blue of the sky just slightly with atmospheric infection. A reminder of the wastes beyond. Scarcely any clouds rolled in the still day. It was dry and had been for a short time in this region. Most radstorms rolling through brought winds and minimal rain, or doused the Northern Commonwealth with its bounty.

Again, the questioning rumble crossed his sensors.

“Look, if you want to lead, be my guest,” the metallic man gestured with a skeletal hand to the open road. “I won’t have this discussion all the way to the settlement, I can tell you that much.”

Rook thrummed knowingly, pale eyes regarding the detective with marked intelligence. They could easily stare eye-to-eye now when they walked. Had the Deathclaw stood up to its fullest, he would have been easily a head and half higher than the synthetic man. With a huff, the lofty creature turned this venture into the wilds, away from the road. Each step was heavy, but dulled in its sound by the earth. Sticks and leaves would crunch occasionally, but for the vastness of the beast’s size, he was surprisingly nimble and made little noise.

“Just remember that I take lead once we get there, even if you’re taking point right now,” Nick Valentine continued, taking this opportunity to restock his automatic pistol with ammunition after their last bloatfly encounter.

The Deathclaw chuffed with a clacking of teeth then a low and deep rumble, spinning a pale-faced head to look at Nick with a tilt. His horns were growing thick now, framing the creature’s face as an added level of protection as time went on. Hide was beginning to thicken too. Spines ran the length of his back, some nearly half a foot in length. A formidable creature to walk up to any encampment.

“Why?” he made an exasperated gesture. “Because otherwise they’ll shoot first, ask questions later. I highly doubt they’ll let a Deathclaw just waltz up in their settlement and begin trading. Which is why I came along. To watch your back and to get us in.”

_How was a Deathclaw able to even raise an eyebrow?_

Nick shook his head, “Right, yes, I know people shoot synths too. You don’t need to remind me. I just think you fail to realize exactly how many people I know out in these parts, Rook. My reputation in the Commonwealth has to have some type of payoff when matters like this come up.”

Nostrils flared with a huff as the unlikely companion, and now lead through the brush, paced on. Each step sent his tail swaying from side-to-side, muscles flexing rhythmically beneath the thick hide with untapped potential. It was little wonder why the hellbeasts were so feared upon the landscape. Even friendly as Rook may have been to those that knew him, a stranger would certainly be hard-pressed to feel comfortable with the encounter.

“As much as I need you, you need me too,” Nick decided to finalize, straightening his fedora as they walked. A slight breeze tussled his coat.

A rattling noise bubbled from the throat of the ‘rookie’, razor-claws tucked against his chest as they walked.

“Yeah, yeah… Laugh it up. See if you’re still laughing when they fill you up with turret fire. We’ll see who needs who then,” the detective said with confidence.


	21. So It Begins

It was always disorienting after a teleportation trip through the relay. To have one’s body disappear entirely and reconvene in another place seconds later had a way of messing with a persons senses. All of them. At once.

The white-washed walls, clean floor and smooth glass surfaces had vanished as soon as the relay was activated yet again. Everything disappeared in a flash of crackling blue lightning and a thunderous boom that could be felt mostly within ones chest. It was never painful, but slightly uncomfortable. Disorientation was the most noticeable effect from it. That, and the odd sensation of losing ones body completely in a temporary kind of limbo.

Suddenly there was ground, and light, and sun. Concrete rushing up beneath her feet, wind upon her face. It all came back in such a rush that she stumbled, and eventually sank to her knees until the world stopped spinning as she held her head for a moment. Back to back trips appeared to be harder to recover from. She'd make note of that, and hopefully wouldn't be doing this back-and-forth thing much longer. It still surprised her that they hadn't deactivated her code to get inside. Yet another question as to the Institutes motives. Or, perhaps, it was Doctor Li who had a hand in that. It was the good doctor who had installed the chip, after all.

It was difficult to suppress the desire to be sick as she knelt before the C.I.T. ruins. A taste of bile crept up in her throat. A few deep breathes seemed to banish that sensation as best she could, although her stomach was still slightly reeling. Only a few times recently had she been caught with nausea and unable to hold it at bay in recent memory. But, for the most part, it wasn’t proving to be too difficult.

Sitting back on her heels, padded knees upon the concrete, she looked around as color returned to her features. No one appeared to be in the immediate area. However, looks could be deceiving, especially being out in the open in front of the C.I.T. building; A point of interest for the Brotherhood’s future assault. No doubt there would be scouts in the area. While they might not shoot her on sight, there was no telling what had been transpiring recently within the fold. Paranoia could run deep and swift.

Quickly, the Paladin pushed herself to her feet and drew her weapon to position. It would be wise to keep moving.

* * *

“We’re running out of time.”

Desdemona was more on edge than usual. Anxious, perhaps. It wasn't surprising, given their current circumstances.

Tinker Tom was decoding the holotape brought back from the Institute as quickly as he could, but it was a tedious and complex process. Headphones sat upon each ear as he focused his attention exclusively to the task. He'd been at it for some time already. If anyone could crack into the Institute's coding, it was the conspiracy theorist savant. No one dared interrupt him and risk disrupting the delicate process happening on his terminal. There was still a chance it would work. A slim chance, but it was there.

Yet, word had come back that troops were gathering at the Brotherhood’s airport location. It was a worrying sign.

Tom tapped away in the background as soft lights buzzed in the dark of the subterranean HQ. Desdemona was standing, arms folded across her chest. No cigarette hung from her lips. Somehow, in the faint light, she appeared older than usual. Eyes stared off unfocused as she observed her innermost thoughts in silence. Putting together steps to their next plan. Analyzing. Digesting the intel and using it to somehow find their best option. No wonder she looked so strained.

Agent Keyson, as well as a few other field agents, were scattered about in wait for what would happen next. All were armed. All were strapped with gear. The call had been made to stand at the ready. All had obeyed without question, even though no one was sure what the next step would even be. 

Reed was sitting on an overturned milk crate, hands folded in front of her and elbows on her knees. Chin was resting upon her clasped hands as heavy thoughts rode upon her shoulders. She’d returned only a few short hours ago to the subway system to regroup. All of this was beginning to make her anxious in a way that was abnormal for her. A deep sense of worry that sat like a rock in her stomach. Typically one to remain calm, to formulate plans, to go through missions with at least a general idea of its outcome. In this, there was no way to plan, no way of knowing. Until they were there, until they were inside, anything could change. It left the mind apt to wonder and dwell. 

Danse was resting and had not stirred since she last checked on him. Deacon, thankfully, had helped the fallen soldier get some food and eat what he could while she’d been gone. It was a good sign, even if all he'd managed to consume was a small dish of noodles and water. No wonder her companion was sleeping. It took a lot out of a person to go through such a traumatic bodily experience. The scar upon her own torso was a testament to how much she could relate. It was uncomfortable to brood upon what he must be going through now. 

Opening her hands, she dropped her head and rubbed open palms against her eyes for a moment. She was tired.

“You alright?”

Green eyes looked up at Deacon, who was sitting a few feet away. Again, she netted her fingers together in front of her. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just feeling a bit tired.”

“Why don’t you go grab a nap while we’re waiting?” he offered. It was kind. Then again, he was one of the only ones that knew. 

Gladen seriously considered it, then shook her head slightly. “No, I’ll be alright,” she said. “If we get set to go, I need to be ready.”

Deacon stared at her for a moment before nodding in resignation. “Alright, if you say so,” he relinquished.

All the agents appeared to be on edge. There was a tension in the air that was practically palpable with its intensity. Field operatives were used to the doing. It was the waiting that was the hard part. As time passed, it seemed to only increase. A few of the agents talked amongst themselves. Some sat in silence. One was pacing slightly off to the side, although not obnoxiously so. Two were playing cards on an overturned crate.

Nick and Rook still hadn’t returned from the outing Reed had asked them to take. Then again, it was a fair distance to cover. Fortunately, neither one of them were human, so they would not be rendered exhausted by the trip. It wouldn’t surprise her if they returned shortly. Part of her hoped they would. The Railroad boasted a variety of well-meaning and excellent people. Yet, Nick had been with her from practically the start. He felt like, well, family. Rook too, despite the teeth and razor claws. 

What she wouldn't give for this to be over, to go back to fixing turrets and digging fencelines at the settlements.

Anxiety gnawed at her like an itch she couldn’t quite scratch.

Footsteps echoed from the Eastern tunnel as two more agents arrived on the scene. They were running, breathing heavily. Sweat soaked their clothing and gave it cause to cling to them in the cool air. Cheeks were red and sweat beaded their brows. Upon reaching the platform where the others had gathered, they bent over and caught their breath.

“Liberty Prime…” one of the agents was saying between breaths, “… has been powered up. Last … we saw they…. were running systems… diagnostics.”

Murmurs rumbled through the group. A few agents stood at the news.

“How long ago?” Dez asked, tone direct.

Chest heaving, it was the second agent’s turn to speak up. “An hour ago… maybe more,” he said hastily.

“Got it!” Tom interrupted, slamming the last few keystrokes with more exuberance than was needed. “At least, I think… It looks good from what I can tell, Dez. Ran it a couple times. Tweaked a few bugs. Should be enough to stall the system enough for us to override the relay before they shut it down. Maybe. Yeah, probably. I mean, it's the best we got, right?”

Everyone took a moment to pause. Eyes settled on Desdemona, leader of the Railroad. The one who had personally arranged all the agents before her in this time of need. Knew them by name, by rank, by their purpose in the giant cog that was their faction operations. Tinker Tom and her shared a look for a time, then she nodded and turned.

“Looks like we’re about to see if all this hard work and risk is going to pay off,” she said with a stern confidence to the group. “Gear up. Let’s see if we can’t take this fight to the Institute. If not, then we take to our fallback plans. No doubt the Brotherhood would just as readily bring the fight to us after dealing with the Institute. Regardless of what happens, each of us has a role. Let’s get prepared. Whatever happens, happens. Just remember that we will do our best, no matter the outcome.”

There were no shouts, no cliché phrases or pledges to victory and glory. The dozen and a few agents simply nodded along. They knew. It was a close-knit group amongst them. Each knew one another. Friends, companions, mission operatives for the betterment of synth-kind. It was an oath all had not taken lightly. There would be no question that each would fulfill their role to the best of their abilities, whatever that role would be in the end.

It was Reed that began to gear-up now as well. Nerves were slightly rattled as she went through the motions. It would be her leading the charge in this, as much as Desdemona, if they managed to infiltrate the Institute with the configured bug that Tom had devised. It was her that knew the facility better than any surface dweller. Her that would be gaining them access. Helping the synths escape if they could. A weight of responsibility sat on her shoulders.

All while the clock ticked away with impending threat of Liberty Prime’s arrival.

It was easy to feel the eyes upon her. Not all at once, not a steady stare, but the gazes were there. Glancing. Fleeting. Everyone knew her role in this, would be looking to her if they got inside. It would be her that would be the first to go, and only with her success could they possibly play their own parts. She was the key. Her mind worked through the steps. Fell into the meditative task that was her pre-mission checklist. The motions. The automatic routine of it all. It drew focus to the chaotic arrangement of thoughts that currently occupied her conscious mind. Calmed nerves. Settled into the familiar feeling. _It was just like any other mission_ , she told herself. 

As others were getting ready, she stood made her way to the infirmary.

* * *

Danse was still resting, lids closed and breath steady. Apparently he had been awake for some time prior while she was away dealing with the Institute and downloading the holotape data for Tom. Dr. Carrington had administered another round of Stimpaks, which had sent her companion and lover once more into a bought of exhaustion. She remembered the lulls after the chems. The grogginess, the wandering dreams and mind. It was a strange experience, at least for her. 

For a moment she nearly crossed the threshold of the doorway as she stood looking on, but something held her back. Several moments passed as she listened to the quiet of the room, shielded from much of the bustling and gear-gathering happening in the open expanse just beyond. It was dim, only a single light that buzzed gently off to the side.

_What would she say?_

To wake him and tell him that she had to rush off to a potential firefight? To worry him even more? Gladen chewed her lip for a moment as mind worked and presented the scenarios. What might happen if he were to know she was leaving for a mission yet again. On her own, with knowing risks. No doubt they had figured out their security breech by now. _He would ask her to stay,_ she knew. To have someone go in her stead. Perhaps he would understand if she would explain it. He would understand more than most the reason she would have to leave. To help. To do what she could. In that she knew he would be willing to listen. But, deep down, she knew he'd struggle to let her go on. 

No footsteps crossed the threshold.

No movement crossed the inner sanctum of that room where he rested.

“You get your sleep, Michael,” she said quietly to the dark. “I’ll be alright. I promise. I love you.”

No one responded. It was only his subconscious ears that heard her words, not enough to wake him. Not enough to pass along the message to a mind that would recall it. It fell to the silence. There was no sense in waking him just to watch her leave.

The doorway stood empty only moments later.

It was time to test their plan.

With a bolt of blue lightning, she was gone from the subway station only a short time later.

* * *

This time, she was sick.

Landing heavily upon the glossy floor in the centre of the facility, the Vault dweller was unable to stave off the effects of the nauseating vertigo after the third trip in recent memory. Fortunately, it lasted only a few bouts before the twitching of her stomach subsided. A few deep breaths helped her pass the waves of sickness as bearings returned to her senses. There was no one around, thankfully.

The Vault dweller took a moment to muster her resolve and wipe her lips with the back of a hand.

Shakily, she stood and carefully made her way in the direction of the relay control room. Holotape from Tom sat protected in her pocket. It was the key to all of this. 

If it worked.

The plan was simple: Extract and save the synths they could before the Brotherhood showed up with guns blazing and destruction on their mind. Trigger the evacuation alarm for those that wished to leave. Rig the reactor with a remote detonation device as a backup plan in case measures got desperate. The idea of destroying the Institute was to destroy what it was doing here, not to kill everyone within it without mercy.

Unfortunately, it was not going to be as easy as last time to gain access to everything she needed to accomplish this. While her relay code had not been deactivated, it was clear that security measures had been taken since the last hacked network access from her previous visit. 

Synth patrollers, a form of Gen2 designated with the sole purpose of security, were stationed along the walls of the specialized relay control room. The room she needed to upload Tom’s override of the relay and get the rest of the agents in. Dressed in white, armed with laser rifles and garbed with protective gear, they were a formidable adversary. Several were stationed within the small room. A few too many for her to logically take on by herself.

Reed pressed her shoulders against the doorway after taking a glance, leaning her head back slightly against the cool wall as her mind worked at possible tactical options. Few were coming to mind.

_Shit._

This was going to be harder than she thought.

A voice startled her from her internal dialog.

“Is there anything I can assist you with?”

It was the familiar standardized greeting. A voice she had heard before.

Green eyes were surprised to see the Gen3 again.

It was T4-62.

Reed took a moment to draw a breath. At least it wasn't security that had found her already. It would be a shame to start an all-out firefight without the other agents to get in on the action.

“Oh it's you, T4. Good to see you again. Assist with? Nothing comes to mind right now, unless you can help me clear a room of security detail so I can take over this facility’s teleporter and hijack the relay signal to bring in reinforcements,” she said in a low voice, ending the statement with a small laugh. With odds stacked so heavily against her, there was little sense in maintaining full secrecy.

To enter the room beyond was foolish at best. A grenade to clear the Gen2s would destroy the equipment they needed. Even a pulse grenade would knock down the crucial systems.

It was a rock and a hard place.

A pause came as the Gen3 processed her words. T4 tilted his head.

“Why do you wish to do this?” he asked. The tone was still somewhat stiff.

Reed closed her eyes and drew a breath, “Because, T4… if I succeed, we can help the synths escape and evacuate the humans before the Brotherhood destroys all of you, and keep the Institute from destroying the world on the surface.” She felt as if she were talking to herself to a degree.

“Then… I will help.”

The words gave her pause.

Tactical options began to open.

She turned to regard the synthetic man in front of her as his rigid body language gave way to that of a more fluid kind of movement. Human-like. No longer robotic or stiff. No longer a mask to fool the scientists. His sky blue eyes looked to her without malice.

“Do you have a secondary weapon?” he asked. The tone flowed at a normal pace. The robotic quality to it had fallen away.

“Are you… are you really willing to help?” Reed asked, just for confirmation. “It’s not going to be easy.”

_Well, this took an unexpected turn._

T4-62 nodded. “I will help you,” he said, words still somewhat formal. “If you can deliver us from this place.”

Reed couldn’t help but wonder, then, if Danse had been similarly robotic before all of this. Conveying messages like that of a servant or robot without emotions, which is what the scientists expected. Her green eyes lingered for several moments as an emotional resolve overtook the anxiety and trepidation of it all.

Gen3s were more than a malfunction of protocols. To know so many, to have seen the synthetic humans exist in the world, to make their own judgements and take their own risks and designation for their future and survival. That was more than simply an error of algorithms or calculations made by the scientists. In their quest to seek perfection, the scientists had forgotten the variability that was to be innately human. To base their science upon such a fundamentally unpredictable creature to start with was to invite the possibility for independent thought. If only they could understand how deep it all ran. It had been beyond their control from the start, the moment they had chosen to use human DNA as their basis.

Without further hesitation, Reed lifted her automatic pistol from the confines if its holster and offered it to the awaiting T4.

The synth took the weapon and looked it over carefully for a moment, then lifted his gaze to meet hers.

“Let us proceed,” he said dutifully.

Reed couldn’t have agreed more.


	22. The Plan

It was a shame to gun down the Gen2s. Yet, it had to be done.

T4 had proven to be a welcome addition to her venture inside, allowing infiltration into the relay control room without damage.

Shouldering her laser rifle, Reed quickly set about the instructions given to her by Tom. The brown leather of her fatigues groaned slightly with each movement. Straps clung to her form without being too terribly restrictive, each bearing a metallic plate or some form of additional protection to her body. One clung to her left shoulder and upper arm. Another plate strapped to her chest and mirrored along her back. Padded knees, protected shins, a holster strapped to a hip overtop of thickened leather. It wasn't Power Armor, but it was mobile and could likely stave off a glancing laser round if need be. Reed found practicality in mobility, especially in a place such as this.

“What is it you are doing now?” asked T4, who kept the automatic pistol he carried at the ready while watching the surface dweller work.

“Uploading a bug to the relay database to temporarily give access to the coordinates located inside,” she explained, tapping at the keys. Fortunately, the program to be uploaded featured an auto-run when properly selected. It was surprisingly easy. All she had to do was get it running and it did the hard work on its own. Tinker Tom truly was a miracle worker with incredible skill when it came to altering computers to his benefit.

Suddenly, numbers began to scroll across the screen of their own accord as the bug overrode the system. Lights began to come to life and operate across the terminal panels. Somewhere, a ventilation system booted up as energy was poured into the mechanics of the relay.

With a thunderous boom, the relay in the adjacent platform crackled to life.

Blue lightning raked up the walls and arced through the modernized versions of tesla coils as the subroutines allowed bypass of security protocols and invited in new guests. A circular room lined with all manner of panels and conductors was the main platform. The agents would be teleported into this very room, unlike Reed, whose chip granted her immediate access to the lobby when arriving inside the Institute. The air briefly smelled of static electricity. Lights upon the walls dimmed ever so slightly from the powerful draw upon the system’s internal electrical grid.

Suddenly, the blue lightning struck the center of the room with precision. One strike after another as figures appeared within the confines of the adjacent space.

It worked.

It felt as if she had been holding her breath.

Relief flooded her system.

“Dez,” she said with such gratefulness, watching the Railroad leader step from the surface of the teleporter.

“You did it!” the Railroad agent said with astonishment.

As the agents arrived, many took a brief second to take it all in. As if momentarily lost to the wonder of it. Of actually being inside the Institute. Part of their plan had worked. The most crucial step. The one that had the strongest likelihood to fail and fall apart. It had worked. They all knew it as they stood and breathed.

A renewed sense of hope washed over the group as a whole.

T4 stood at the doorway on guard for any other Gen2s, but he was actively looking over the new comrades with interest.

Desdemona gave herself a mental shake, immediately returning back to her position of authority on this mission. If Reed had done her part, then it was time they do theirs.

“There’s no turning back now; If they’re not already on to us, they will be within seconds,” she was saying. “Tom, I need you to get that relay working under our control as fast as humanly possible. You’ll need to pull us out once we’re done with the reactor, and send out anyone that’s unarmed… Institute personnel included.”

“Alright, alright,” Tom said, rubbing his hands together with excitement at the idea of getting to operate Institute technology directly. From the very source. A dream come true for the hacker. “I got this, Dez. Just you watch. Institute protocols won’t know what hit ‘em. Mm-Mmm, this is going to be a fun ride! Let's see what secrets this place has to hold...”

Without hesitation, the eccentric began tapping away at the keys and muttering to himself cryptically.

“T4, can you stay and help Tom? You may have insight into the system here beyond our understanding,” Gladen asked, turning to their newfound comrade-in-arms.

The blonde-haired Gen3 nodded from his place at the doorway, “Yes, I can provide assistance.”

Dez shared a look with Swift. A silent question about the stranger.

Reed gave a shrug, “I make friends quickly.”

“So it would seem,” Desdemona said, almost cracking a smile. It was lost in a mask of seriousness as the leader made ready her weapon. “Let’s move out. We don’t have much time.”

* * *

A vial rolled across the countertop before slipping over the very edge and coming to shatter dramatically on the floor.

Hardened hands gripped the edge of the countertop, knuckles white, trembling.

“Sit down before you hurt yourself!”

The voice was that of Nick Valentine, trying with failing success to talk some sense into Danse.

It mattered little. His mind was made up.

Sweat beaded upon his forehead with the effort. Skin was both pale and cheeks mildly flushed from the exertion. Arms flexed in an effort to hold himself aloft. Calloused hands were unwilling to give up their steadying grip on the edge of the countertop. It caught him off-guard at just how difficult everything was in this moment. Moving. Standing. Even reaching a hand out was difficult. Vertigo plagued his senses and made the world tilt without rhyme or reason. Catching the stable counter had given him some sense of accomplishment and allowed him to stand unassisted for the moment.

"No."

He reached out and began to rifle through the medical provisions that were laid about with such care and organization. A few bottles got tossed haphazardly to the floor without a second glance as he searched for specific items. Lips pressed together with the effort. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple and mingled with the stubble at his jawline.

“What do you think you’re going to do, huh? In your condition?”

Another vial, empty, joined its broken comrade on the floor with a delicate breaking noise.

A hiss of a Stimpak wheezed out into the chill of the room.

Danse winced, having set the site of injection to that of the gaping wound on his torso. Hands clenched into a fist for the moment, eyes closing as he tried to focus his resolve. A faint tint of red stained the bandages after his excursion across the room. A plastic lid clattered to the surface of the counter, spinning for a moment as Michael shook free a handful of the powder-white tablets from a container. He tossed them back, swallowing them with only minor difficulty.

Normally, Michael was opposed to most chems. Not so much Stimpaks, Radaway… Those were useful items and kept people alive. It was chems that altered a person’s perception of the world or increased a person’s performance he found himself in disfavor of. Even some pain-management chems were enough to draw his scrutiny at possible abuse. Yet, there was a time and place for them in this moment, if only temporarily.

Throwing open a drawer, a bounty of possibilities were revealed to him in the spinning room. Pressing his lips together in focus, he withdrew two of the syringes. Lifting the cap to his teeth, he removed the protective sheath and hurriedly administered the first dose directly to his core. Tossing it aside, he repeated the same with the second. Pale purple liquid drained readily from the syringe, mixing and rushing through his bloodstream instantaneously.

It was a rush. Heart began to race slightly. The edge of exhaustion slowly ebbed from his joints. Muscles began to regain their vigor. There was little wonder why some chems could be addictive. A feeling of restored energy seemed to light up every vein. Senses sharpened. The drumming in his head eased enough to see straight. Even the spinning reduced to only the slightest of tilts if he turned too quickly.

Hurriedly, he gathered a few more of the medical provisions before looking up at Nick. Eyes were touched with a chem-induced painkiller high, but it was enough to take the edge off.

“Okay, where are they?” he said, trying his best to focus.

Nick’s face was rather unreadable. Perhaps disapproving.

“C.I.T. building ruins,” he said, still taking in the scene before him.

Michael nodded, torso shirtless in the cool air. Goosebumps scattered across his skin. Bandages were still wrapped tightly around his midsection and chest. Breaths were still shallow, still unable to expand completely due to the slowly-mending torso wound. However, it would be enough to keep him going for now. A blood pack was stowed away in his provisions, in case any crucial stitches began to pull, as well as a few more doses of pain-killers and adrenaline.

He tested his legs as he left the infirmary, limping only slightly on the left. It was a distant discomfort, not sharp like before. Despite the number of painkillers coursing through his system, he took note of how long he might be able to ride this wave until it inevitably crashed. A hopeful mind might have concluded a few hours of success on the high, but logically, in his condition, it was apt to be much less than that.

Footsteps stopped sharply as eyes fell upon it in the half-light.

It was a welcome surprise, one that nearly touched an emotional edge within his core. It was an asset he'd never imagined he'd lay eyes upon again. A tactical edge. One he could use right about now. A few tweaks and it would be a blessing.

Rook looked up and thrummed from where he lay lounged upon the concrete floor, tilting his head in question at his life-long companion. The Deathclaw was no fool. It was easy to smell the blood in the air still, and the chems mingled within. Nostrils flared as the scene continued to play out. He stretched briefly, claws grating at the floor as he awaited their next move. No doubt they would require his help, after all.

“Reed said you might want it, after all this was over,” Nick said, voice coming up from behind the rushing veteran on the platform. Even with all the chaos surrounding their current situation, Nick had a way of staying remarkably calm.

Rook chuffed throatily from his resting spot, not one to be forgotten for praise of a job well-done. It had taken both him and Nick to retrieve it.

“Think you can operate that thing in your condition?” Nick said, raising a brow.

Danse nodded to himself, “Affirmative.”

* * *

The plan was simple: Get in, save as many lives as they could, evacuate the facility and set the reactor charges as a last resort. It seemed so simple in theory. It was the nuances and the unpredictability that would decide the outcome in the end.

Security was heavy within the facility, as was to be expected. Those that worked and lived and patrolled here were familiar with the layout in an intimate way. A way that any outsider would be unable to mimic. Reed was the only outsider who remotely knew parts of the vast facility’s layout. The rest were sweeping the facility blind as they went.

As a force, the Railroad quickly established themselves. Agents pressed behind cover and poured out into the main floor of the facility. Like that of a lobby, but it was massively vast and open. Glass-encased tube elevator sat deactivated within the center of the giant cylindrical room. Water continued to flow along designated channels and enameled stairs in its beautiful simplicity of a filtration system. Small trees that grew along the waterway gave little protection as the laser rifles began to sound off from both factions.

Access to the reactor was in the rear catacombs of the BioScience division. Fortunately, it was a portion of the facility that she knew well, having navigated it previously when searching for Virgil’s serum. A decommissioned area that was under strict lockdown. The heart of the facility that kept it running all these years. No doubt it would be protected, but they were prepared for that.

Gen2s, armed with the familiar white laser rifles, garbed head-to-toe in synth-designated armor, began to file in and take up opposing positions in an attempt to stem the advancement of the intruders. A handful of the scientists also took up arms, although they themselves were wholly lacking in armor. White flashes illuminated the walls as they opened fire upon the invading force. The Railroad agents fell quickly into cover before returning the gesture in kind.

A distant rumble reminded them of their urgent timeline.

Suddenly, an alert overcame the system. Lights dimmed in the facility ever-so-slightly, while red light domes on the walls began to flash to life and spin warningly. A evacuation alert began to tone gently over the intercom system in a feminine voice, advising all personnel to evaluate immediately. It politely advised them that this was not a drill.

“If you can get me into the sub-section, I can plant the pulse detonator,” Dez was saying to Reed as they stood side-by-side, backs pressed heavily against a glossy white wall as laser rifle hissed past. Adrenaline pumped through both of their systems. Everything was in sharp focus. The reality of their task was at hand, and up to them to push for their success.

“BioScience division,” Reed was saying.

A spent mag clattered to the floor as she slipped free more ammunition from her person and loaded it with familiar motions. Automatic. Fast. There was no time to think about mundane things when it came to the heat of battle. A blind hand turned the weapon around the protective wall, firing without taking aim. “We’re running out of time,” she said redundantly. All of them could feel it. They knew from the rumbling above that they were not likely to be alone much longer.

“Cover me, then,” Desdemona said as she shared a glance with their newest agent.

Reed nodded.

Seamlessly, both flowed from the protection of cover at once. Red rounds contrasted against those of white. Aim was taken as eyes began to pick out their targets from the surroundings. With armor, it was harder to take down the Gen2s as quickly as they would have liked. The duo moved from cover to cover, breaking occasionally to reload as they pressed through the throngs of resistance.

Others began to follow in their wake, understanding the unspoken plan as they flanked.

Precious time was lost as resisting synths and scientists fell in their wake. One of their field agents went down as well during the firefight. There were risks to this mission. They all knew it, all agreed to it and come to terms with the possible outcomes. Even Dez. Even Reed.

“Take your team and get to the reactor,” the Paladin was saying, sweat beaded on her forehead.

There was no hesitation, no question or even an exchange of words. A small band of agents broke off and infiltrated the BioScience division without so much as a glance back. Reed and a handful that stayed back provided cover fire. Agents moved to flank as more reinforcements filtered from a corridor to the side. It was easy to hear the exchange within. Startled scientists. A few security-designated synths. Footsteps and the tossing of a table for cover.

Gunfire within died to a disturbing quiet. Not long after, however, was the sharp explosive sound of a well-placed thermite charge. The restricted catacomb door was blown violently free of its lockout.

They were in and on their way to the reactor.

Another rumble of the facility foretold of a battle being sieged above them on the surface. Tiles clattered violently to the floor with a resounding crash. As they fractured against the glossy surface in small plumes of dust, visibility grew a bit hazy. Agents and scientists alike along the lobby walkways held arms overhead protectively as the structure shifted and groaned, sending particles and chunks cascading down with force.

Security synths failed to recognize the instructive to leave, or had been ordered to dismiss it. Gen2s continued to press and fight against the invading group. Reed continued to maintain her position of cover for much of it.

This wasn’t some fight against Raiders. Synths had incredible aim, programmed and calibrated. It was like facing off against equals, and proving much more challenging than anticipated.

White-hot rounds continued to hiss by with dangerous precision.

“Keep moving,” Reed said, hugging the rifle stock tightly against a shoulder as they strategically retreated to a section with more cover. They fell back only a short distance, sights still trained upon the BioScience laboratory to assist those within. However, if matters came to it, Dez may be forced to take an alternate route of evacuation. There was no telling what force they may have also encountered within the very catacombs themselves. Reed knew they would not be unprotected.

“…ello?” a male voice crackled over the main intercom of the facility. It rang out clearly above the din of battle. “Hello…? Oh-hey! T4, it totally worked! Hell _yeah._ We hacked the Institute’s intercom system, ha ha! It’s Tom, guys. Dez planted the detonator. Time to start phase 2 and get outta this joint!”

No one would be inclined to argue.

Flashes of light began to erupt in the division several minutes later. Figures could be seen within as the reactor team made their press to return to the lobby. Other agents began to also focus their attention on providing some much needed cover-fire. Synths began to drop under the onslaught. Dez and her team had held up their side of the plan. Agents moved to cover their comrades.

Now, they would need to get out.

A metallic click signaled the empty magazine, and she was deftly reloading when a violent hit caught her off-guard. Reed stumbled, fell. Ears ringing, suddenly dizzy from the brutal behind-the-back strike from the butt of a rifle. A reflexive hand reached up and touched the back of her head where the strike had landed, pulling away with a thin glossy coat of fresh blood on her fingertips.

_Fuck._

Suddenly, she was being hoisted by her fatigues. A strong grip tossed her roughly against a nearby wall like a ragdoll. It knocked the wind from her as she landed and slumped against the ground.

_Shit._

Hands came up empty. Righteous Authority was no longer within her grip, lost during the surprise attack. Muscle memory sent a hand to her thigh, but the holster lay empty. _T4 had her pistol._

_Plan C._

The flash of a hidden blade glanced to life, encased within the very same holster leather as a last resort.

A violent boot-kick sent the silver blade skipping harmlessly across the shiny floor.

Panic set in. A pair of rough hands grasped her shoulders and lifted her to her feet, slamming her back against the wall without mercy. Head bounced slightly, leaving a glossy red smudge from the initial encounter. A hand was on her throat, then, holding her slightly aloft on her tippy-toes. The other hand upon her continued to grasp her arm, etching bruises there as it held firm.

Out of sheer human instinct, she grasped at the hand upon her throat, fighting for her right to breathe. Knuckles and fingertips were white as she strained to ease the tension there. Against the will of Power Armor, it was a futile gesture at best. Tiny dots of light fluttered through her vision like fireflies.

“I knew you were a traitor,” the voice was familiar.

A single hard squeeze would be all it took to finish her.

Cheeks were flushed with struggle.

Fear began to creep to the edges of her mind as vision began to tunnel slightly.

_No, please, no._

* * *

Liberty Prime made short work of the Gen1s and Gen2s on the surface.

It was a pathetic attempt at resistance, to be honest.

Little could be done to stop the massive force that was Liberty Prime at full functionality.

Backed up by ranks of veteran Brotherhood soldiers and Knights, there was no question as to the outcome of this particular mission. Victory was in the minds of all those upon the ground. A story they would tell along the generations. The very day the Institute fell to the glory of the Brotherhood.

Knights were in the midst of the fray, flanking and aiding as best they could as their key to success strode dutifully through the Commonwealth. A few vertibirds circled high above, but laid down surpressing fire only when the area was clear of comrades.

In the chaos, no one heard her shout or struggle.

It caught her so quickly that none would have noticed her disappearance. Quick, fast. No eyes. No witnesses. It had been perfect.

Weapon was pinned against her torso, along with her arms. A large grip held strong onto her face and across her torso, muffling any shouts or screams that came to tumble from her lips. Kicking and twisting yielded no success against the grip. After the initial shock wore off, dread set in. Blood felt as if it ran cold at the reality of her circumstance.

She was in trouble.  Big trouble.

No one would survive this.

Wide eyes stared up as the Deathclaw carried her with ease, twisting its face briefly to look down at her. Lips parted slightly as it walked, white teeth hiding just slightly beneath the mottled lips.

A scream made to rise in her throat once more, but it died swiftly as the creature increased its grip on her with a low and threatening growl. It pressed it’s face close to hers. Hot breath could be felt along her skin.

This would be how she died.

Without a sound, the creature released its grip after a few short blocks.

Scribe Haylen tumbled to the ground.

As her feet sought purchase in the loose earth, as if making to run, a familiar voice stopped the frantic scrambling.

“Haylen, it’s alright...”

_It was... Danse?_

“... I’m sorry, we had to get to you before it was too late.”

A cluttered back alley served as their meeting place in this moment. Rook stood in the shadows, tilting his head occasionally as he maintained a vigilant watch after successfully kidnapping the Scribe. The Deathclaw almost appeared to be grinning. It flashed a glance up at a nearby building, no doubt gloating over being the chosen one for the task. Nick was nearby, although currently out of sight. Danse was sitting for the moment on a makeshift pile of rubble, his familiar T-60 back in his care. It had been repainted, of course, to make it less obvious. Emblems of the title Paladin were missing from its surface. It was currently a matte black, paint job not ideal but functional. A few spots of silver could be seen here and there. A protective arm was held against his right side, although little could be done to stem the hurt through several layers of metal. It was more of a sympathetic gesture to the pain below.

Sweat beaded his forehead. A few tweaks had increased the power of the armor, allowing the wearer to exert minimal force to operate it. It had helped him get this far, but already he worried how much further he could push himself.

“Danse?!” Scribe Haylen pushed herself to her feet. Nervous eyes glanced at the lumbering Deathclaw, which stood glancing at her every now and then. It rumbled quietly. “What is tha...? What are you… What are you doing here? You’ll be killed if they see you. I never thought… I didn’t think I’d see you again. Are you alright? You look like hell, sir. What’s going on?”

“Reed is inside the Institute,” the former Paladin said, brown eyes narrowed slightly with effort. He didn’t have time for pleasantries, unfortunately. “Got inside with another crew. Setting the place up to blow. I need your help.”

“Aw, shit,” Haylen’s analytical mind worked quickly. There was no question she had always supported her mentor, even after things had gone badly with the Brotherhood. If he was coming to her now, it was because he truly needed help. “What’s the plan, sir?”

The former BOS soldier could feel the high beginning to ebb. Then again, their run through the tunnels had taken a lot out of him. A powerful hand worked gently to remove a syringe from his provisions, pulling the cap off with his teeth, spitting it off to the side and injecting the purple liquid into his neck without hesitation. Slowly, the two Haylen’s that had been swimming before him in his vision began to regroup into a single person.

_That was better. For now._

“I need you…” he winced slightly as he moved to stand, tossing the syringe to the side. Rook chuffed anxiously, but quieted with a wave of the former Paladin’s hand, “… to get them out, or I need you to get me in.”

Scribe Haylen stared at her mentor for a few moments. Too many questions converged in her mind to think of what to ask about first. In the distance, a thunderous boom announced the unloading of Liberty Prime’s payload of Mark 28 nukes. A single boom. There would surely be more.

Slowly, she shook her head.

“You never were one for giving us the easy missions, sir.”

* * *

A voice came over the audio relay.

“Sir, there appears to already be a detonation device on the reactor core.”

It was the distorted voice of Proctor Ingram.

The Brotherhood had successfully gained access to the Institute after a violent assault on the hidden hatch tunnel located on the C.I.T. building grounds. Liberty Prime had made quick work of exposing the access point. Laser eye had melted the barrier with ease. Within minutes, a scout team had infiltrated the facility.

Several Knights had taken point. It seems their luck was holding well in these matters. It took little effort to overtake the relay control room, as their access point had been ruptured right above that particular location within the facility. With that luck came incredibly useful intel.

It appeared that the Railroad was already within the building.

_Interesting._

If charges could be set in time, it would be killing two birds with one stone.

Elder Maxson glanced at the speaker of the audio relay, considering their next move. He had followed suit within the facility, after the control room had been secured. Another detonation device upon the core was an unexpected circumstance. Arthur did not enjoy that particular element of the intel, as it was not he who held the detonation switch. It took away an portion of their control in this situation. Normally, he would have unleashed Scribes into the facility to take measure of the technology here before they would have destroyed it so utterly. However, if another had control of the switch, it gave them little opportunity to investigate this place in detail.

_Change of plans._

“I doesn’t appear I can remove it without triggering it to explode. There is no countdown, no timeline. It looks remote operated. We went ahead and planted our own device, but can’t be sure which one will go off first,” Proctor Ingram went on to say.

_So, it would be that way, then._

Elder Maxson turned his gaze about the control room, settling upon a person of interest. “Scribe Haylen, do you have access to the facility from that terminal?”

Skillful hands stroked at the keys, although a brief glance came up from her work, “Most of it, sir. Much of the deeper details would have been locked away in each division. It isn’t on the main network.”

Maxson nodded slightly. _They would get what they could._

“See if you can obtain whatever information is accessible. We will analyze whatever we can off-site. Unfortunately, I do not think we will have sufficient time to analyze this facility in-depth, so what we gather here will have to suffice. Had the Railroad not gotten involved, perhaps we would have had more time,” he spoke with a clear edge of frustration.

Scribe Haylen was one of the best, and able to override even Tom’s security lockout of the relay access. She had one task to accomplish first before downloading the archives. A green light flashed to life on the screen: Y/N? She glanced up slightly, then struck the 'Enter' key. Lights in the relay room danced to life briefly. A surge drew power on the system. It hummed slightly, but the draw of power went primarily unnoticed amidst the sound of gunfire not far off. Cautious eyes glanced up at the Elder. There was no blue lightning here indicating anything had happened. A small screen popped up on the terminal, indicating a successful transport to the facility. It had gone unnoticed.

“Compiling what I can now, sir,” she said, turning her attention to digging into the Institute archives. The relay screen disappeared as quick keystrokes delved her into the network of the system now.

“Have all the synths and Institute personnel evacuated yet, Proctor Ingram?” he asked of the intercom, voice neutral.

A bit of static crackled back at him.

“No, sir,” she was saying. Rifle rounds echoed in the background of the audio frequency. “We’re encountering heavy resistance. Currently pinned down. We’re going to try to find an alternate route.”

“Absolutely, Proctor Ingram,” Elder Maxson said with a nod. “Keep us posted on your position.”

A handful of Knights flanked the senior ranking officer as the Elder stood at the control panel for the massive Institute relay. Lights flickered across the board. Some were stationary. Others remained unlit. Scribe Haylen worked as quickly, yet accurately, as she could. Holotapes were inserted and removed with surprising speed as archive after archive was accessed and externally downloaded.

Laying by the wayside were the figures of several Railroad field agents, Tinker Tom and the synth T4 among them. Bound roughly. Gagged accordingly. There had been little resistance.

It was unlike the Brotherhood to take prisoners of war, but it was only temporary. They would be gone soon enough.

“They have 15 minutes to return before we fall back,” Elder Maxson said, glancing at an armored Knight by his side.

A holotape clattered to the floor.

A helmeted head turned to regard the Elder’s orders, “15 minutes, sir? We still have operatives clearing the facility…”

Blue eyes narrowed beneath darkened brows. “The Railroad has already infiltrated the facility prior to our arrival. Everything is considered compromised. Proctor Ingram was already able to identify a single detonation device on the reactor’s core that does not belong to us. Given the chance, they could activate the device and render this facility nothing more than a vast hole in the ground. With us inside it, I may add. 15 minutes is a rather large grace period, given the circumstances.”

The soldier fell silent.

Arthur’s gaze swept the room, “Save those we can.”

Sidelong glances drifted through the ranks of those stationed within the tiny room. An unspoken question shared among them all at the decision. Haylen picked up the dropped holotape, trying desperately to hide the shock on her features.

Comrades were fighting just outside the doors for the glory of the Brotherhood. Men and women that had sworn oaths in the name of the fold, whose very weapons were hot with synth annihilation. If they could not gain control of the facility and fall back within the allotted time, Elder Maxson would activate his own detonation device. Even if that meant sacrificing the lives of those inside for the greater good.

_Ad victorium, brothers…_


	23. Change of Plans

“I knew you were a traitor from the first moment you walked into the police station.”

The voice dripped with malice. Familiar brown eyes stared back at her. A dark look. Expression stern.

Knight Rhys’ gaze blazed with such intensity that even Elder Maxson would have been hard-pressed to match it. A T-60 wrapped and protected his body, although the helmet had been cast aside for dramatic effect. Eyes narrowed as he flexed the hand upon her throat slightly. Just a pulse. A cough was drawn from her with utmost satisfaction.

“You had everyone convinced, but not me,” he was speaking with a bitter edge. A lip twitched upwards in frustration. “You walked in like you deserved the position of Knight. Made in good with Paladin Danse to get where you wanted to be. Everyone was blind to what you were doing, but not me. It was you that _somehow_ found a way into the Institute, despite us having searched for so long. You went in and came back without so much as a scratch. Then, it was _you_ that produced a holotape with Institute secrets. Secrets that indicated Danse was a synth. How _convenient_ it was that _you_ were promoted to Paladin so shortly after being ordered to kill him. I could see how others might miss that. It was clever. But, not clever enough.

“That was it from the start, wasn’t it?” he squeezed again, releasing just enough to let her catch her breath. “You were working with the Institute the whole time, weren’t you? Infiltrate our ranks, understand the Brotherhood from the inside. Then work your way up to a place that mattered. Yet, only you were able to produce Institute secrets beyond anything our entire faction could produce after years of invested effort. Only you that could get inside, no one else. How convenient. Then, you framed Danse. Set him up so you could take him out. Set it up so that you would be the one next ranked Paladin. Then, after that, Liberty Prime becomes compromised and you disappear. Funny, isn't it? Elder Maxson seemed to think so when I brought this to him recently. You won't fool us any longer.

“You think we wouldn’t figure it out?” he spat with venom. “Low and behold, here you are. Inside the Institute after going AWOL. Synth supporter scum.”

“It’s not… like that…” Reed tried to speak around the grip on her throat, struggling as a sense of panic began to set in. A flex of his hand made her rasp. Desperately, she clawed at the hand.

“I won’t listen to any more of your damned lies!” Rhys said with growing impatience, a drop of spittle leaving his tongue from the effort. He nearly growled as words fell from his lips now. “You killed my mentor for your own selfish gains, you Institute piece of _shit_. It’s time you pay for everything you destroyed.”

* * *

He never saw it coming.

It caught him by such surprise.

Even the sound of it conveyed how hard the strike had been.

One moment Rhys stood in absolute control, lost to the world that was his rage, anger and revenge, and in the next moment he was sent sprawling to the glossy floor with such force that he nearly bounced despite the weight of the Power Armor. Foregone was the grip upon her throat. She had tumbled with him for a moment to the floor herself, carried by the momentum of the assault. Powerful grip ebbed and, without hesitation, the Vault dweller had twisted away and uncoordinated feet pushing to readiness. Hands sympathetically touched her throat with a cough, trying to regain composure. Green eyes sought Righteous Authority. Dancing lights swam in her vision, making it difficult to focus.

_There._

She made for the weapon.

Rhys was scrambling to push himself up and was violently thrown to the wall, not unlike he had done to Reed just moments ago. A hulking form rushed up to meet his, looming form pressed against him without hesitation. An armored forearm leaned heavily against the Knight’s throat as he lay against the wall, nearly causing the rage-filled soldier to choke. A pistol muzzle pressed angrily against the raging man’s temple as he blinked in utter confusion. It was cold, almost painful as it pressed so firmly that it threatened to tear the skin. The Knight's eyes blinked rapidly as if willing away the spinning sensation. Lip was split and dripping blood from the armored punch that had sent him tumbling. In the moment, it was impossible to tell if his jaw was just hurt, dislocated or broken. Had the arm not been choking him, he might have been able to check.

“You touch her again and I will be forced to feed you every round left in my magazine. Do you understand, Rhys?” the large figure growled in a tone so threatening that the recruit found himself attempting to retreat further against the wall. The pistol pressed more firmly, as if reminding him to stay still.

Rhys’ confused eyes blinked wide at the sudden turn of events, holding hands up in terrified surrender.

“Paladin Danse, sir! I… I thought… You were dead... sir!” he stammered and choked, wheezing against the pressure on his throat. Fear touched his features, then. The gaze that stared him down was that of unquestioning certainy.

The pistol at his temple was not an idle threat. It was very real. It promised his death.

So close, he could hear the sound of an armored finger touching the trigger.

Dark brown eyes weighed heavily against his previous recruit, continuing to apply pressure to the neck of the stammering Knight. “No,” he said, tone dark. “I would have been, had it not been for her, you hard-headed fool.”

Color drained from the Knight’s face as eyes scarcely stole a glance towards Reed. Realization washed over him, then. A realization that he may have been, well, _wrong._

White laser fire continued to hiss about them, unbothered by the sudden violent exchange that was taking place.

“I… I’m sorry, sir,” Knight Rhys stammered, looking at the veteran with open regret. “I thought… I just…”

“No, you didn’t think,” Danse did not ease on the pressure.

A serious part of him wished to pull that trigger.

_In truth, he nearly had._

Features twisted with frustration. Slowly, he removed the pistol from the Knight’s temple.

“If you even so much as step out of line again, know that I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger,” Danse violently shoved himself away from the recruit.

It was perfect timing.

Reed smashed the butt of Righteous Authority to the facial features of Knight Rhys without buffering the force. She practically aimed for the back of his skull, her neck still sore from the his grip that had almost killed her. A satisfying sensation came when she felt his nose yield to the force with an audible crunch. An armored hand came up to grab at the bleeding flattened hole. A pained moan echoed from the recruit as he slumped to a sitting position.

“You fucking touch me again, Rhys, and so help me I will destroy you,” she spat, rage drumming at her temples. Righteous Authority snapped to familiar position, as if backing up her claim.

He'd almost had her.

Almost killed her.

Rage coursed through her veins.

The male Knight held a hand up in surrender, flinching slightly away out of reflex.

A white hot round from an enemy laser rifle hissed by Reed, too close for comfort.

Danse broke the standoff as he stumbled back to rest against a nearby column. Skin was ashen, sweat beaded upon his brow. Forehead was creased with intensity as he fought to maintain both equilibrium and strength.

“Danse…” Reed said, lowering her weapon and slinging it over her shoulder as she rushed over to the wounded soldier.

Off in the distance of the Institute, a Deathclaw bellowed. It echoed off the plain and glossy walls hauntingly.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, frantically touching his forehead. It burned with fever and was damp with sweat.

“Neither... should you,” Michael said, voice tired. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy. Painkillers coursed through his system. An adrenaline boost was giving him temporary strength for this venture, but it would taper off quickly. It was like a blazing hot fire. Once reserves ran out, it would quickly fade out.

Deep-seeded worry sat within her chest at his physical condition. Throat tightened.

“We need to get you, us, out of here,” she said with sudden resolve.

A part of her refused to think that he might have already pushed himself too far as it was.

“The Railroad already set the reactor to detonate,” Reed was saying, reloading Righteous Authority with practiced grace. Even over the sounds of battle, part of her could hear the laboured breathing of her lover. A sharp gaze fell to Rhys, then. “You. Help him. Even if you have to carry him,” her voice boasted no room for question.

Michael made to protest.

Paladin Reed snapped her rifle up to attention once more. "I swear to god, Rhys, I don't have time for your fucking bullshit right now," she said, growling.

If it came down to it, she would shoot Rhys and take his Power Armor.

Finger hovered over the trigger of her laser rifle.

It appeared even Rhys could now see the pale complexion of his mentor, as well as the trained laser rifle a single twitch away from rending his head from his body. “I’ll keep an eye on hi—“

Reed slung her weapon back violently and crossed the distance between them in only a few short strides, grabbed the front of Rhys’ armor and violently pulled him to lean down to her height. Their noses would have touched, if the female Paladin hadn’t flattened his just moments before. “You will protect him with your life. You will carry him if you have to. That is an order, Knight. If he dies, his blood is on your hands. Do you understand me? Get him, and you, the fuck out of here. Now.”

Rhys blinked. It has been his mentor that he had sought to avenge. And yet, Paladin Danse was here in the now. Here, but clearly unwell. Perhaps... perhaps he had been wrong after all. No lips came to admit it, but it knocked the rage from his sails. "Yes, ma'am," he mustered.

Paladin Reed needed Rhys right now, as much as she hated it.

Knight Rhys was wearing a T-60 and could carry Danse.

Green eyes stared hard at the Knight a few moments longer before releasing him. A silent promise.

If he so much as set a single toe out of line, Reed would kill Rhys where he stood.

“Move out, soldier,” she muttered darkly before pushing herself away.

Swallowing hard, Knight Rhys needed no further instruction. Dutifully, he put an arm under the listing form of his mentor and began to half-carry Danse as they retreated.

* * *

It was locked.

A small group was clustered nearest the door of the relay control room, maintaining cover while a select few tried valiantly to gain entry to their escape route. It had been compromised. Override signals failed to budge the steel barricade that was the blast doors. Red lights continued to spin in warning about evacuating the facility. Most personnel was gone at this point, along with most of the synths they had come here to rescue before the Brotherhood showed up. Each had possessed chips that allowed them to teleport to safety. The Railroad agents were not so lucky and did not possess such chips.

Gen2s continued to filter out here and there throughout the facility. The reducing numbers made it easy for the Railroad to stand their ground. Off to the side, a half dozen Brotherhood soldiers maintained their own position.

Bodies of a few Brotherhood soldier lay strewn about the immediate area of the doorway. Amongst them were Gen2s, as well as a few Railroad agents.

Those that had gathered here in an attempt to escape avoided paying any mind to those bodies upon the floor. Stories of glory in battle often left out the details of seeing comrades and lifelong friends sitting in pools of their own blood and fluids.

Deacon’s hand slipped off the metallic rod they were attempting to use as a prybar for the doors. It clattered noisily to the ground and echoed throughout the immediate area. A few people looked up. Frustration etched on the normally cool features of the smooth-talking field operative. Again, he picked up the bar and went back to work on the seal.

It was growing bleak.

“Paladin Reed.”

A voice broke the uncomfortable vibe of the immediate area. It was unfamiliar to most, save for those that operated within the Brotherhood.

Hands were cast skyward as a mechanical-legged figure crossed the walkway to their immediate position. A familiar Brotherhood operative wished to speak with her. No weapons could be seen upon her person. At least, none that would have given them reason to annialate her on sight. A sense of unease had settled within the facility. The Railroad, because their escape route was compromised. The Brotherhood, because it had been their escape route as well.

“Proctor Ingram,” the Vault dweller said with some measure of surprise, and perhaps, relief. Danse’s vitals were stable for the moment, although he was growing less and less alert as time continued to pass, slumped down and resting against a nearby bullet-riddled wall. Brown eyes looked up to see the Proctor, however. Knight Rhys remained at his position beside his mentor, stewing in a pit of remorse.

If Ingram was surprised to see Danse, she didn't let it show.

“I think we need to talk,” said Ingram, tone level-headed as ever. A logical woman. Typically fiery in disposition. Straightward talker. Honest to a fault. It was the kind of person they needed right now. Gladen nodded, gesturing to the Railroad agent flanking her to lower his weapon for the moment. Ingram gave a thankful nod as she lowered her arms. “Door is barred, isn’t it?”

Reed glanced back. “Sealed from the other side, as far as we can tell.”

“Do you have the other detonator?” Ingram was certainly straightforward.

Reed shook her head slightly. Copper-red hair matted to the sides of her temple slightly with sweat from this entire ordeal. What she wouldn't give for a bath when this was all over. “Negative. It’s off-site at a secure location,” she, too, was honest.

A few looks were cast her way from the Railroad agents scattered around. Distrust was etched on the features of most in the immediate area. None of the factions sat at ease right now. And here was Reed, revealing intimate data about their position within this battle. No wonder the other agents might be questioning her now. It made sense. Reed was working multiple angles, which could certainly draw some levels of distrust from both sides. Then again, they were fools to think that she was sided with any one particular faction. In the end, all she wanted was to be out of all of this.

“Elder Maxson ordered me to attach our own device to the reactor, even after finding and locating yours,” the Proctor was saying. “Shortly after, he called for a fallback for those of us still within the facility. But, I see now that the door has been sealed.”

It was easy to put the pieces together, as much as person might not want to finish this particular puzzle.

Words fell silent between the two women for a time.

An unseen weight seemed to settle on the group in the immediate area. Gunfire had ceased a short time ago.

“Options, Ingram? Can you de-activate the explosives?” Paladin Reed created a list of options in her mind. None had very decent odds.

“Negative. Both appear to have been wired similarly, and will likely discharge if removed.”

_Shit._

“We don’t know how long he’ll wait,” Proctor Ingram looked at the Vault dweller with full honesty.

They both knew.

Everyone could feel it. A clock somewhere was ticking closer and closer to their ultimate demise. It was heavy. The weight of the situation.

What had gone right within the Institute was mirrored only by what had now gone catastrophically wrong.

* * *

“You’ve doomed humanity, do you realize that?”

Gladen stared at her bedridden son. An elderly man. One whom she’d gladly have left with business between them concluded. Each had said their peace previously and left it at that. Life had an interesting way of expanding upon matters once thought completed.

“You doomed humanity the moment you and your people gave up on it,” she said bluntly, bitterly.

Emotions of all sorts rolled and fought within her. Frustration, anger, determination, hopelessness, heartache. Each one battled the others, leaving only a blank mask upon her features as the turmoil rolled within. In the stairs below, her love was slowly deteriorating and would need aid soon. The people below were quiet in their own thoughts. A few were still valiantly working on the door. Nick and Ingram were coursing through terminals, trying desperately to find something of use.

“They destroyed the relay,” she went on to say.

Shaun huffed what could have only been a bitter laugh. “And you have so made your bed, mother. Are you afraid to lie in it?”

“No,” she said louder than she intended. A breath softened her tone slightly. A headache was irritating her senses, making her snappy. Rightfully so. “I tried to warn you. Had you listened, your people wouldn’t have needlessly died protecting their work. It was us who hacked into the terminal to activate the evacuation protocol, to try and get your people to safety before the Brotherhood arrived. You could have saved most of them. Yet, your pride in your work stopped you from thinking of people. For what? This place? The Institute? Shaun, when did technology become more important than those it’s supposed to work for and protect?”

“You came here with the intention of destroying the life’s work of hundreds and hundreds of devoted scientists, and I am supposed to sit back and allow you to do so without a fight?” Shaun became emotional before falling into a coughing fit.

“Your facility was going to be destroyed regardless of if I was here or not,” Reed said evenly. “It was only a matter of time. If you had simply left the surface world alone, none of this would have _fucking_ happened. Your people... they used the surface dwellers in their disgusting experiments. _Hell_ , Shaun, you were one of those victims at one point! Your very own father died trying to keep the Institute from taking you. The only difference is you weren't killed, or experimented upon. You survived, and were rasied to believe this was what the real world was like. What about the others? The victims of your trials and theories? Where are they now, Shaun? You tell me that your lifes work was for the betterment of humanity, and yet, you are just as guilty of killing as those on the surface that you condemn.”

Shaun’s coughing fit ended as he stared at his mother with reddened eyes. “Perhaps,” he said bitterly.

“Is there another way out, Shaun?” she finally pressed.

Silence hung between them. His eyes betrayed nothing but contempt.

“We came to save your synths, and your scientists, before the Brotherhood could harm them,” she said, allowing the frustration to touch her tone, “since you were unwilling to do so. In that, we did as much as we could. There are still scientists here, however, that couldn’t get out. That are holed up in their divisions. In their quarters. The relay is not responding, likely destroyed by Maxson. None of us can get out. I don’t ask for me. I ask for everybody else, Shaun. If you truly believe that you wanted to do good for humanity, then do something now. If there is another way out, then help me, Shaun.”

A twitch crossed the features of the elderly scientist. It was clear he was weighing the options, the measure of her words. The hardened expression upon his features never failed, but perhaps some of the malice ebbed from his gaze.

After several long moments, he spoke, “Very well, mother. There is little we can do now to turn the events that have happened here. You have seen to that. If this place is doomed, then we must do what we can for those still with us. There is another relay. It must be brought back online, but it should be operable enough to evacuate everyone still within this facility to a safe location. My authorization code is on my terminal, over there.”

An age-spotted hand gestured to his desk nearby. He was unable to leave his bed in recent time.

“What of you, Shaun?” she broached the question gently.

A shadow softened his features, “I am old, and I am dying. There is little point to taking me with you. There is nothing for me in the world above. I do not want my last days to be of suffering in a foreign world. Take the code, extract those you would save and leave me be.”

Reed nodded to herself, and rose to the terminal he had indicated. It took little time to obtain the information required. Location. Rerouting the power commands. It would need a manual override to fully activate, but then should be fully operational. Lights were green across the board, from what she could tell from here.

It would evacuate everyone by default.

Shaun closed his eyes as he rested against the white linen of his sheets.

“I’m sorry, Shaun,” Reed was saying as she tucked a data-loaded holotape into her fatigues. “I wish things had… turned out differently.”

“Don’t we all,” he said with a bitter laugh that lacked humor.

Gladen didn’t close her eyes, but took the shot without hesitation.

Shaun hadn’t seen it coming. Never felt the bullet enter his skull. Never even saw the gun raised.

Had it not been for the red spray upon the pillow, one might have thought he was still resting.

The relay would evacuate them all by default.

Shaun had wanted to stay here, with his work, within the walls of the place he had grown to call his home. And so he would, until the very end.

It had not been her son.

No, not anymore.

It had simply been a scientist whose life’s work had taken him down a path that had ultimately been his demise.

And yet, there were still tears upon her cheeks as she descended the stairs two at a time.


	24. Getting Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Note: Oh my! I genuinely thought I had posted the next chapter. Dear readers, I am so sorry to have left you in a 'cliffhanger' situation. Bad WLS! Please accept my apologies for any undue stress I may have caused <3)

It was surprisingly easy to find the secondary relay.

Accessing the terminal upstairs and activating the override sequence with the correct password had opened up a well-hidden doorway that sat adjacent to the first relay’s main entrance. A crack had formed along the pristine wall as the door recessed within, dragging upon gears with audible scrapes and grinding. It sounded as if it may seize at any moment as it relied on aged hardware to function.

Yet, it parted without fail.

Deacon had dropped the pry bar in favor of his assault rifle as the breech was made, unsure of what was exactly happening as the door opened. A few other agents turned their attention to the unknown opening, wondering if they were being outflanked and hostiles would come pouring from the depths at any moment. Instincts snapped in as all watched with great focus, ready for anything that might come for them next.

No one came from within.

Red and amber lights flashed along the dark corridor within, giving it an ominous appearance. 

Footsteps echoed throughout the grand glass lobby as Reed made to rejoin the group stationed outside. Green gaze settled across and met with a handful of the BOS soldiers as she ventured past them. They were unsure of her. Unsure as she got too close, fingers hovering over triggers in case anything strange happened that would pose a threat. A few faces were familiar as she walked. By the expressions returned back at her, it was obvious they knew of her too. Most had seen the Paladin in passing before if they had been stationed near the Prydwen for any length of time.

No doubt they were wondering why she wasn’t with them now. Why she was helping the 'enemy'. If only they knew what was going on, perhaps they might understand a little more.

Thankfully, none took any shots at her as she walked.

Yet, they were not the only ones who boasted confused expressions here and now. It must have seemed magic, in a way, that the second relay entrance suddenly appeared out of nothing but a bare wall. There had been no sign, no inkling that it even existed. Yet, here it was, after she had disappeared for a time. No doubt Rhys was still suspicious after everything that had happened, not yet understanding even what his own opinion of the situation was. After all, the female Paladin had up and run off all of a sudden with realization. Run off in the dim hope that perhaps Shaun would release information needed to assist them. It had been a gamble, but it had worked. They could question it all they liked. All that mattered now was that here was a chance to escape, slim though it may be. 

They were not out of the woods yet.

“Shaun?”

It was Nick that broke the silence.

“Dead,” Gladen said, cold and distant.

They had heard the gunshot, it seemed. _No sense in denying it._

“Ah,” Nick said, nodding slightly. “I’m sorry, kid.”

“He released information about a secondary relay before his death,” Gladen pressed on, unwilling to dwell on emotions here and now. There was still work to be done. She needed to stay somewhat disconnected. A few murmurs rippled through the opposing groups as her voice easily carried. Green eyes flashed to the open door that had appeared in a seemingly solid wall. “When did that open up?”

“Just shortly before you came back,” Nick continued. 

“No Gen2s,” Deacon confirmed from his position at its entrance with rifle still in hand. “We thought we were being outflanked.”

“Must be the entrance, then,” she was checking her weapon. There was no telling if this was a trap or not.

_It didn’t matter. They had to try._ Each moment tickled by.

“Ingram, Dez,” she was saying, “call a truce between your groups. The battle can wait. We’re getting out of here, if we can.”

Her words were nearly redundant. No gunshots, save for her own, had sounded off for the past several moments. Ingram stood amidst the Railroad agents unarmed after their discussion just moments ago. Other Brotherhood soldiers were watching at a distance but had not loosened a round in a while. Knight Rhys was still standing with Danse’s arm draped over a shoulder, unwilling to let him drop as he continued to support his former commander. Fortunately, the hardened Knight’s expression had softened from a seething rage to that of mild discomfort. _It was an improvement._ Still, it was good to put words to the truce, even if the feeling had been mutual for a few moments already.

“Cease fire,” Proctor Ingram said as she cast her voice over a shoulder. “Until we resolve this, nobody engages. Understood?”

In truth, Paladin Reed outranked the Proctor, but with suspicions running high she’d rather not test her authority.

Dez merely had to glance around at her agents. None moved to protest. “We’re good here,” she said. Her hair stood out in a disheveled mess. A spray of blood red dots adorned her neck and face. It didn’t appear to be her own.

“Nick, I’ll need your help,” Reed moved to the entrance, checking her own weapons. A headache drummed naggingly at her temples. _What she wouldn't give for this day to be done._ “Ingram, a spare set of hands couldn’t hurt, if you're willing?”

A readied nod was her answer, _thankfully._

Lights within the emergency tunnel continued to circle in ambers and reds. A black and yellow checkered pattern marked the entrance, like that of an ominous finish line. Hopefully it would not be rigged with explosives or possess extensive defensive measures. Her patience had worn out long ago. She was tired. Physically and mentally.

A glance to her left met the eyes of her poor drugged lover as he fought for consciousness. He was worse off than he would openly admit, she knew. It was easy to read it upon his features. Features she knew so well. It was the slightest of moments that passed between them, but it was enough. They had an understanding with one another. She had to keep going. Perhaps, with luck, they’d make it out of this mess. It was her turn to shoulder the burden. He had done more than his fair share this day. An urge to touch those features nearly overcame her, and instead, she turned her focus to the darkness that yawned before her in flashing lights.

Nick would be able to operate most terminals, and the most important one of their lives lay beyond the doorway.

If there were power issues, no one in the Commonwealth would be more capable of resolving it that the Proctor.

In a way, they were lucky. _Well, as lucky as one could be, given the circumstances._

A hand reached up to touch the pocket where the authorization holotape sat to initiate the emergency relay protocol. Felt the edges through the fabric. Their potential key out of this mess.

The universal clock shared amongst them all continued to tick in the background of her thoughts.

Any moment, the reactor could be triggered to explode.

They’d never even feel it.

“Let’s move,” she said, disappearing into the shadows.

The darkness swallowed them quickly, leaving the groups to stare on and count the minutes as they crawled by.

* * *

It was true.

Green lights shone out against the stark contrast of the crimson and amber darkness. Faint, but there. Despite the dim light, it was practically a beacon in the darkness; A single screen sat in apparent sleep mode. A single green light blinked at the bottom right-hand corner.

Panels reached up the walls. Metallic tubes and clusters of cables were hung about as they connected to boxed metal switches. It looked as if perhaps this relay had been the first attempt. It did not look anything like the relay they had used to arrive within the Institute. This, by comparison, seemed much more thrown together and experimental. _Of course._

Even in the dim light, Nick was able to see more than most. Yellow eyes that glowed in contrast to the darkness around them was analyzing everything in rapid attention. The only backup lighting in the immediate area was the red emergency hue. Still, it was enough for the mechanical man to work with as he familiarized himself with the operating console.

Ingram, with her own keen observation, managed to identify and locate the main power switch mounted on the wall amongst all the other electrics. It took a moment of investigation, but soon the familiar and deep hum of energy began to reverberate throughout the room as old electronics began to feel the surge of power once more. A cooling fan kicked in behind the scenes with a whirling sound as it buffeted the air and cool the electronics. 

More lights began to illuminate to life across the board. A blip appeared on the monitor as it awoke from its deep slumber thanks to the power switch being thrown. A courser blipped idly at the top left of the screen before scrolling through an automatic systems analysis. Each letter and number glowed a radioative green in the dim light not unlike that of the Vault dweller’s pip boy. 

There was no word for it. No phrase that could be uttered. No poetry sweet enough that could describe the feeling of hope as the lights came to life. As the screen began to glow. As a hum could be felt around them of potential for this idea to work. The back-up relay existed. It was still a slim chance of success, but at least... at least there was a chance.

_Now it would be time to see if it still worked after all these years._

A layer of dust across much of the room was a flag to remain realistic about their circumstances. It had been a long time since this device had been utilized.

“Nick…?” Reed was almost afraid to ask.

“It looks… well it _looks_ stable. Programs are running without a hiccup. It’s still wired into the network, now that the password granted access,” he was saying, more reading the screen than tapping any keys for the moment. It was running on an automatic self-diagnosis.

“Will it transport everyone?”

Shaun had said this one was a back-up, and by default, should produce such an effect.

“Seems that way,” the mechanical man responded. A flesh-covered hand and the metallic skeletal appendage began to skillfully dance across the keys. “It may blow a fuse with the effort, but it should work long enough to get most out. Maybe. It's hard to tell what exactly might happen.”

“Power reading is at 98% and holding,” Proctor Ingram chimed in. If working alongside the synth bothered her in anyway, she made no effort to discuss it. “I think that’s the best we’re going to get, Paladin.”

“It’ll have to do,” Gladen said softly, musing out loud more than anything.

Anxiety was palpable in the room. A true sense of urgency mingled with fear of the unknown.

If it failed, there would be no back-up plan.

They would die here.

It had to work. They couldn’t afford the alternative.

In this moment, there were no factions.

No Brotherhood. No Institute. No Railroad.

All differences stopped when matters of life and death were on the table.

Black and white.

It was the only stark reality of this world. Existing in the Commonwealth was to live in the grey. And yet, life and death… Those were the only true black and white of it all, in the end.

A being was either alive, or it was dead. 

A Brotherhood soldier’s death was no different than an Agent’s death.

In that, they were equals.

If only they could realize that while they were in the grey world, they might remember that, in some way, they were more alike than they realized.

The smell of static filled the air around them. Hairs stood just slightly on end.

“Readings are stable, Gladen,” Nick said as he turned to regard the Vault dweller. A woman who, not even that terribly long ago, had suddenly been thrust into the chaos of this unfamiliar world. It was not that woman who stood before him in this moment. In her stead was a wastelander, a true member of the Commonwealth. Where others might have fallen, she had remained and adapted. He knew she would change the world. This just… wasn’t how he’d pictured it. In a way, he was proud to be here alongside. “It’s your call, kid,” he said, glowing eyes settled upon her.

_They would be dead if they didn’t try._

Even if the relay failed, at least they would go out knowing they did everything within their power to alter the outcome.

“Throw the switch,” she said without hesitation.

There was a slight pause.

A switch was thrown to complete the circuit.

Lights around them dimmed as the equipment drank of the power grid to fuel its purpose. For a moment, Nick’s eyes were the only source of light within the whole room.

A brief clutch of fear grabbed her breath.

There was a pause in the hum.

_Had it failed?_

_Blown the fuse?_

Perhaps… there had not been enough power on the grid after all.

It crackled, then.

The blue lightning. First as a trickle of static shock that licked at the floor, scarcely there. Then, a bright eruption of thunderous magnitude raked out across the entire room. It exploded around them like a shockwave. It struck and swirled like a miniaturized thunderstorm. Spinning and arcing through the air without accuracy. All around them it crackled, although no shocks could be felt biting at the skin. It was utter, blinding chaos. 

Suddenly, the world disappeared.

Body. Form. Feeling. All lost in the expanse of nothingness.

It lingered. A conscious thought drifted by, unattached and unfamiliar.

Without a brain to analyze anything, it was impossible to determine anything in the limbo.

Time was a funny thing. What could be an eternity could feel like only a moment. And what was only a moment could feel like eternity.

It was this way now.

It lingered longer than before.

Perhaps this was death?

* * *

A sensation trickled through a thought.

A feeling in the vastness. Fleeting, but there.

Then, another feeling. And another thought.

A world suddenly rushed into being. Bright, fresh, solid.

Feet came to touch earth and give pause in the dizzying lack of direction.

Hands, limbs, a heart that pounded within a protected chest.

Air, glorious air. A deep breath had never felt so sweet.

Lightning crackled about, striking without rhyme or reason.

Blue above, earth below.

Suddenly, Reed fell to her knees. Head tilted shamelessly up at the sky.

Even the nausea couldn’t touch her now in this moment. Even as the clouds appeared to spin above from vertigo, it mattered little.

Open sky. Solid beneath her limbs.

It had worked.

Emotion touched her chest, her eyes.

A shuddering breath of gratitude.

They’d made it out alive. Far outside the city. Laid out upon the barren wasteland of an empty field with the downtown core dotted in the distance.

Other forms were about her. Other people. Familiar faces. One after another after another. Nick. Ingram.

In the distance were more.

Deacon, and Dez. Agent Keyson was helping someone to their feet. Tom. T4. Someone was untying them. Even Rook stood and shook, grumbling in confusion.

The soldiers from the Brotherhood. The Knights in their company.

Rhys, as he stood supporting Danse.

The scientists, who wept. The synths, who stood confused or quickly fled.

It had really worked.

Shaun had saved them, in the end. In his own way.

Even after all that had happened.

And, for that, she would be forever grateful.


	25. Tensions

Briskly, she wiped her eyes and got to her feet.

A few people were also somewhat unsteady after the trip, having never been transported before. Some appeared just fine.

Each group was scattered across the landscape.

It would be imperative to create some sense of stability before opinions and conflicts could be allowed to reign free once more. After all, it had not been that long ago that bullets and hissing laser rounds had been exchanged between the groups while under orders and duress. It would be safe to assume that such smoldering hositility could still be brewing beneath the surface. It would have to be either snuffed, or redirected to more useful tasks. It would benefit no one to continue the fighting now, not after everyone had made it out alive. 

“Proctor, are you alright?” she asked in a genuine tone, moving to stand next to the mechanical woman.

In truth, it was the Brotherhood that concerned her the most with how they would react after all of this. Fortunately, Ingram was the fairly level-headed kind of sort, so it would be wise to ensure that order was at least maintained by the majority of those in command. It would help avoid any conflicts or lingering notions of glory through fighting. Not here. Not now. There would be more days for that, if someone felt so inclined.

“Yeah... Yeah, I’m okay,” the battle-hardened veteran was saying, seemingly shaken from her thoughts. “We… made it.”

Gladen offered the woman a smile. It was heartfelt. “We did, Proctor,” she agreed. “I don’t know how, but we made it.”

More people were rousing to attention.

Reed’s features grew a bit more serious, “We need to gather the troops, Proctor, and ensure everyone is still in their right mind after all that.”

It was like being snapped back to the reality of it all. Reed may have been Paladin, but there was too much left to question right now in this point in time. There was no telling of the Brotherhood troops would listen to her, or if they were holding her at arm’s length after realizing that she had gone AWOL because she was working alongside the Railroad to infiltrate the Institute. Rumors spread like wildfire. Assumptions would be made if the intel was not provided. It could easily get out of hand, and turn back into a battle. As of now, she realized she was not entirely in charge of the situation. It would be imperative to turn to the Proctor for support in ending this peacefully. Or, as peacefully as possible.

It wasn't over yet.

Even Ingram seemed to read between the lines of her words. There were indeed a lot of unanswered questions.

The Vault dweller rubbed her forehead for a moment, measuring her options. Exhaustion was clinging to her bones and mind like a leech, draining the energy relentlessly.

“Come on,” Gladen said, deciding to at least provide some intel. _Intel was the most powerful tool in war._ She remembered that so clearly. “I’ll fill you in on what’s been going on.”

_Well, as much as she could._

There were certain details she would leave out, of course.

“I may be viewed as a traitor after all of this…” she said, testing the waters.

Proctor Ingram may have glanced slightly, but failed to comment.

Reed continued regardless.

“After the orders to eliminate Danse, I found him and refused to follow-through,” she decided to be blunt, honest. They had all seen the former Paladin below ground and knew he was alive. There would be no sense denying her involvement. “It didn’t sit right with me. That his years of service for the betterment of the Brotherhood would be thrown away over a piece of intel from our enemy. After all the good that had been done. It’s not the first time we had encountered a synth. You saw Nick, my friend there. He helped me over a year ago when I first came to the Commonwealth. Told me more about the Institute, what it did, why it did it. I suppose I had more outside perspective on the situation with Danse and how it wasn’t… it wasn’t really his fault. Most synths are treated like slaves by the Institute. Used. Experimented upon. They escape sometimes. Try to make new lives. Wipe their memories and try to build new ones, new purpose.

“Maybe that’s why Maxson and I never saw eye to eye on some things, Ingram. Gen1s, Gen2s… Those appear honest threats. But Gen3s?... Proctor, I’ve been inside. I wish I could have shown you how they do it. They’re… they’re like humans. Sure, created and put together, but all the building blocks are that of real human DNA, with flaws and everything. It felt wrong to destroy them, to kill them, just because of the harmful nature of their creators.

“Which is why I helped Danse escape. I couldn’t kill him just for where he came from. His actions over the years did more good for the Brotherhood than is measurable. And if he did all that, truly believed he was human, well… How could I kill my senior officer, Proctor? How could I turn my back on someone who had proven through years and years of service his commitment to the cause?” she asked, looking openly at the other woman now.

Fortunately, it was not malice that met her now. Confusion, perhaps, but not anger.

“I can see how all that would make it confusing for anybody,” Ingram responded carefully, remaining heavily neutral. Their eyes met briefly before the mechanical woman looked elsewhere. “Look, I’m not saying what you did was right… but… You and these people did plant the detonation device before we got there with the intention of destroying the Institute. It’s obvious that you were trying to accomplish a similar mission, which means we share some common enemies. Where that puts everything in the scheme of things, though… I don’t know, Paladin. Maxson listed you as AWOL just before we left. That’s not going to sit well with some people.”

Gladen found herself grateful that it had been Proctor Ingram sent to the Institute. Other Proctors might not have been so open-minded about such things. Then again, Quinlinn had little battle experience and probably had not been suited at all for this particular mission. Proctor Teagan, maybe, but then who would count all the rounds and outfit the troops?

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” Ingram continued, eager to be finished this line of talking as their steps took them closer to the others. “But… I’m glad Danse isn’t dead.”

Gladen felt a small sense of relief with the words. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

“We’ll do what we can, Proctor,” the female Paladin said as they rejoined the others. “It’s all we can ever do.”

* * *

Being teleported in the first place had been an unsettling sensation to be sure.

It wasn’t difficult, simply unnerving to a degree.

To be teleported a second time was just as equally disorienting, but more so because they'd given him no warning. It had ended well enough. An open field greeted them now, earth firm beneath ones feet. The air was fresh here. No longer filled with the smell and haze of dust and gunfire.

Many were here now as all the living beings within the Institute had been transported accordingly.

Some fled as they realized their sudden freedom. Scientists that had been locked within their divisions realized their vulnerability and took off into the surrounding countryside without so much as a pistol or caps. A handful of synths had stared about in wonder. A few were up and running, although the Railroad agents that were of sound mind made note of such events. No doubt they would have their hands full with finding suitable accommodations for all of those that had been rescued.

Still, it had come at a cost to many, as he had seen inside. Bodies of the dead and dying. Synth and human alike. It had not been a catastrophic loss, but enough to create heartache for a few to be sure. Brethren that had fought alongside them were not present here amongst the living. The teleportation relay only transferred viable living tissue, it seemed. No dead were scattered about here upon the dried grasses. They were still resting eternally on the cold white floor of the underground facility.

No doubt their names would be put to memory and held in utmost regards when the stories would be rumored across the landscape. It was like a form of temporary immortality in a way. To live on in stories. It was the way out here. Stories and tales kept upon the tongues of generations. He remembered a few he had been told before, of war heroes within the Brotherhood. Nick had even recalled a few tales over the evening fire of people he had met in the past that had changed the Commonwealth for the better. Over time, information would change. Morph. But, the honor of the tale was always meant as a testiment to those who had fought for it. 

His gaze cast about and noted the gathering of each faction to its comrades. Brotherhood moved closer amongst Brotherhood as they watched warily with weapons still in hand. Railroad stood amongst Railroad with caution and nervous glances. A few agents slipped away, following obvious synths into the Commonwealth to ensure they remained safe. No one paid those agents any mind, at least for the moment.

A truce still held between the two factions, held but by a thread. _Unease. Uncertainty._ It was easy to read in the body language of most present. A flash grenade would be all it took to send this place back into chaos with the amount of tension that was apparent.

_Ah, but there was Reed in the presence of the mechanical Brotherhood woman.  
_

They spoke quietly amongst themselves. _Ingram, had it_ _been?_

It was clear that the Vault dweller was hoping to ensure the ceasefire remained for the moment. A glance was cast towards the other Brotherhood members as they stood. A caution was there. Some type of distrust. Was it perhaps her involvement with outside forces? It would make sense. They did not so outwardly glare at the woman as they did the Railroad, but their weapons did remain readily in their grasp. He noted it accordingly and began to stare at those that would be most likely to cause trouble. Body language could say a lot about a person. It was easy to read, once one knew the clues to look for. 

Her eyes settled upon his briefly. It was a simple gesture, but easy to read the request to stand at the ready. _Reed was excellent at non-verbal communication. It always proves helpful in times such as these._

It would be wise to diffuse this situation before it erupted. To send the Railroad agents to their duties, and give the wayward Brotherhood soldiers much needed space as they determined how to regroup with the other squads.

Rook rumbled idly to himself as he watched, mind clicking away with observant thoughts. Few understood the creature's tongue, although their language was familiar to him by now. While humans had difficulty understanding Rook, Rook had little difficulty understanding them.The synthetic man in the fedora, Nick, was apt to analyze quite effectively, which proved surprising. The Deathclaw quite enjoyed the synthetic man. Then there was his longest companion, the man within the suit of armor as he sagged exhausted against another. Danse, his old friend. He, too, understood Rook more than most. It was a strange kinship they shared.

Nose rippled slightly as pale eyes noted the scene, the scent of blood thick upon the breeze. Many scents were there, delicate and plentiful. It was easy to pick out the details he sought, however. It had been quite the venture for his injured friend, and thus, had likely worsened himself. The scent of the unique blood was more plentiful than usual. _It would be wise to resolve this conflict and tend to their wounded_ , he rumbled thoughtfully to himself.

Unabashedly, the six and a half foot Deathclaw lowered himself to the earth and began to rub himself against the dirt and grass. To any, it might appear as a dog would roll in something bountiful. To him, it was the only logical means to rid some of the scent and remnants of blood from his body and extremities with no water source nearby. He reeked of so many scents and it was beginning to bother him slightly.

A few people closest to him flinched and half-lifted their rifles.

He completed his task, huffed heavily and cast a snorting glance in their direction.

No longer reeking of human blood, he felt more himself.

A scene had somewhat started nearest his companions. A small shifting of the crowds that had gathered. Voices. _A discussion._

What they had accomplished still confused him to a degree. Then again, such politics were difficult to understand even for the humans. In truth, Rook had never bothered himself to remain interested. _Leave those matters to the smooth-skins_. So long as none took shots at him, he was apt to continue along with this group of comrades.

A magazine was checked nearest him, almost compulsively so.

Pale eyes swung to regard the human, lips curling with a rumbling note. ' _It would be unwise to initiate a fight here and now,'_ he rumbled. Of course, the strange human failed to understand him, but it was enough. The human gave wide birth to the massive being, a hand upon the grip of his weapon.

Rook snorted with indignation and shook his head.

_Humans took so long to realize the ways of the world, such as who was friend and who was foe. Didn’t they realize, if he had wanted to eat them, that there would have been little to stop him?_

A stink of fear was faint upon the wind.

In the distance, Danse was attempting to speak to the mechanical woman. The leader of the Railroad was there as well, the scent of her cigarettes familiar.

With surprising ease and silence, the male Deathclaw positioned himself just slightly behind the forces of the Brotherhood soldiers as they joined the gathered circle of observers. Some bore full suits of armor. Armor similar to that of the Paladin that had found him as a hatchling. _He had been so much taller then._ To Rook, the Brotherhood was a familiar element in his life. A quality he had known since his upbringing. Their scent familiar. Steel, weapons and mechanical technology. And yet, here and now, mixed with those familiar notes was that of fear and sweat. _Anxiousness._ A few hands gripped carefully their rifles and weapons as they stood at the watch.

If Rook knew anything of these people, it was that they were dangerous when pressed.

And so he stood, a silent sentinel behind their ranks that went unnoticed in the presence of drama and fear.

Should they try anything, Rook would deal with it accordingly.

Danse had taught him well those months upon the wastes. Of flanking. Of tactical positioning.

In his weakened state, the former Paladin was hardly of much use.

As had happened more frequently than not, the responsibility fell to Rook.

Had it not given away his position, he would have rumbled with satisfaction at the idea of crowd control, should the need arise.

* * *

It didn’t take long to reach her main objective on the field.

A hulking form. Familiar. A silhouette that instantly brought back so many memories.

Fortunately, he hadn’t appeared to deteriorate any further since last seeing him. However, the former Paladin was still looking in poor shape compared to how she had left him back at the Railroad HQ. Heavy lids. Sweated brow. Black hair matted to his forehead as pale lips parted for each breath.

Quickly, she unslung Righteous Authority, freeing her hands more fully. 

“Rhys, hold him up,” she asked with gentle urgency.

Rhys was still somewhat… off since their last encounter. Giving orders in this moment might not be the best time. It came as a request, and fortunately, he was not about to argue just now.

A few others had noticed the slightly incapacitated state of the man in the Power Armor and had drifted in closer to see what the commotion was. It was the field agents who perhaps failed to really identify who the man was. However, there was little doubt that the Brotherhood soldiers did not recognize the man of legends that had worked amongst their ranks all those years before. They saw him and knew his face instantly. Even if they had not operated within his squads, any in the Brotherhood would be familiar with the former Paladin.

Cautiously, a small crowd formed.

Fortunately, all seemed to be honoring the tentative truce of the situation. _It was a good sign._

As Rhys continued to hold his nearly-fallen mentor aloft, Gladen slipped around behind and gripped at the manual release of the power armor suit. A large circular release valve that would activate the override to extract the person within in times of damage. It was stiff at first and barely yielded with her effort. Hands slipped slightly and she cursed mildly under her breath. A second attempt released the main seals. Suddenly, another set of hands was there. Green eyes glanced up to find Deacon, who gave her a nod.

There weren’t any words needed as they worked together. A third turn and the T-60 Power armor groaned to life on its own. Panels shifted and released. Hinges swung with only the slightest of complaints. A stationary system stabalizer protocol overtook the controls, holding the internal components in a rigid standing state as the rear panels opened. Inside was the fleshy form of the veteran soldier.

Danse slumped haphazardly from the interior, Deacon on one side and Nick on the other as they caught him without trouble. He was still somewhat conscious, but seemed heavily out of sorts. Skin was clammy to the touch and growing cold compared to the fever that had been burning him for the hour previous. Without the chems coursing at full strength within his blood, the broken nature of his form was more easily felt. Each bump. Each shift. It was like being blown up all over again. _Alright, perhaps not as bad, but it was still quite painful._

“Nick, what happened?” Reed asked as she pressed her hand against the brow of her companion and lover once more. If heat had troubled her previously, the cool of his skin was even more worrysome now. Even as he came crashing down from riding the chem-high, his eyes still managed to find hers at the touch. They swam and drifted slightly, but he was still somewhat conscious. Softly, she touched his cheek for reassurance. She wasn't sure if he even realized they'd made it out. He seemed still somewhat disoriented.

“He hopped himself up on all sorts of chems. Not exactly sure which ones. Enough to get him here,” he said, Boston cop drawl heavy. The synth glanced up at Reed slightly. “I wasn’t sure how to stop him without making it worse.”

_That was fair._

There would have been little to stop the soldier once he had set his mind to something. It was a trait they both shared, as stubborn as it could be sometimes. She understood that, and nodded, appreciating the honesty.

“Looks like he probably blew out all sorts of stitches after that escapade. Shit,” Deacon was saying as he knelt down beside Danse, taking quick inventory. He took a moment to check the groggy man’s pulse. “Hey, soldier. Still with us, bud?”

Michael closed his eyes, as if mustering the energy and coherence to form a response, “… I think… so… Shit, that… hurts…”

Deacon might have laughed had they not just escaped certain death. Instead, he was simply nodding, “Yeah, I bet, man. Hold tight. We’ll see if we can’t get you patched up, ‘kay? Don’t try to move so much. I’m not sure what’s holding you together right now.”

Danse might have answered with _‘Affirmative_ ’, but doubted he could much coordinate the words at the moment. _How was his brain even sore in all of this?_ It felt like each thought was a trial of effort. No doubt from the amount of chems he had taken to go on this particular adventure. Surely it would be an uncomfortable couple of days after this. 

Still, there was no regret in his system about it.

The hand touching his cheek was worth more than a temporary chem-hangover and withdrawl. It meant that she was safe. A dark part of him wondered what might have happened if he had not been there to stop Rhys. A migraine pulsed behind his eyes at the very thought. The concept was just as painful as his broken body, only it ached the soul to consider. Part of him was still angry at what had unfolded. Currently, he was in no state to deal with it. Perhaps when he was of more sound mind and body he would more fully address what had happened there. 

Cautiously, they began to peel back some of the bandages from his torso. They were soaked through with red, so dark in some areas that it appeared nearly black. Stitches could be seen hanging loosely from torn flesh. A few areas that had been on the mend were ripped anew from the commotion. Bone could be seen in one particular gap. Fortunately, the stitches lower on his torso seemed to have held despite everything that happened. Those were the ones holding his organs in to a degree, so that was fortunate.

“Got a blood… pack. In my suit,” Danse winced against the exploratory medical evaluation.

Deacon raised a brow from behind slightly askew aviators. “No shit? Damn, at least you kept your wits about you. Props to that, my friend. You’re going to need it,” the field agent was genuinely impressed.

“Wait, I thought Danse was a synth?”

The voice was that of Proctor Ingram, who watched on at a respectful distance. A few of the Knight’s within their ranks had removed their helmets, realizing it really was their former Paladin who lay gravely injured upon the ground. Rhys continued to stand on his own, not quite apart from the BOS group, but neither with the Railroad. Yet, he stole glances at his mentor. It was obvious the veteran’s condition was troubling for those that looked on, even if orders had been to disassociate.

It was _Danse_ , after all. Paladin Danse. A subject of legends.

Reed shared a look with her broken and bleeding companion, as if silently asking for his opinion on a response. _It was not her place to reveal his history without consent._

Glassy brown eyes looked at her for a moment before giving a nod. _It was alright._ There would be no benefit to lying about it, or about what had transpired. What was done was done.

“It’s alright…” he said, voice familiar to those nearby.

_No secrets within the Brotherhood._

"Yes, he is," Reed said, glancing up to address mostly the Brotherhood soldiers that stood in a semi-circle nearest them. 

Deacon was nodding, "True story."

The smooth-talking Railroad agent was opening the internal compartments within the unfolded T-60 armor as he sought out the medical provisions Danse had stashed before leaving their base of operations. True to his word, there was a full blood pack within. Some bandages. No suturing materials, but they could stitch him up again later. Another compress would be highly beneficial for now. Add to that a blood pack and they would be somewhat set for now. A few rounds of Stimpaks previously had mended most of the biggest bleeders from the initial injury. Now, it was mostly the more shallow, and painful, stuff.

“But… that doesn’t look like a synth,” the Proctor was saying, although not insultingly so. _Had Reed really been telling the truth about these synths being mostly human?_ Ingram had expected to see the mechanical parts of a machine man protruding from any injury sustained by a synth. Parts. Metal. Servos. Wires. Instead, Danse’s wounds appeared only flesh and blood. Bone and skin.

The male field agent looked up at Proctor Ingram, eyes shielded by the silver mirrored surface of his sunglasses.

“Expecting something like an exploded turret? Shrapnel, maybe? You would probably see that in the Gen1s, and even the Gen2s, but Gen3s are based off of human DNA. They may not have been born, but they certainly aren’t machines,” he spoke in a mindfully neutral tone. He stole a glance at those in question, as if ensuring he wasn’t overstepping his bounds. When no protest came, he continued. “They can be hurt. Bleed. Even die. Thoughts, emotions. There is even grey matter in their skull. What you call machines, or ‘abominations’, are really just… a different kind of human.”

It wasn’t meant to be a slap in the face, nor an outright challenge of who was right in the world. It was stated simply, as one might read off a paragraph from a textbook. They were words for thought, to be digested and dwelled upon. Perspectives could change matters, could warp the world to a preferred point of view. It was important to look at the world from a wide angle view, rather than a singular perspective without intel.

If there had been lingering doubt over what the female Paladin had explained to the Proctor, much of it was banished at seeing the poor state of their former officer laid out upon the ground.

_Blood and flesh, not wires and bolts._

Red liquid spiraled down the tubing as Reed took it upon herself to administer the blood pack. After all, she’d seen it done a handful of times, enough to know what she was doing. Deacon busied himself with re-dressing the bandages, holding the flesh and blood at bay until they could reassess how they would begin the process of stitching him back up.

Michael flinched slightly under the medical remedies _. Dez has been right. Blowing the stitches would prove prolong his suffering that much longer._

In fact, it was the leader of the Railroad that spoke now. She’d joined the small gathering.

Most continued to keep a respectable distance, although the Brotherhood soldiers were the ones who now strayed closest.

“Confusing, isn’t it?” she said, ever one to push people from their comfort zones. A few eyes shifted to her as she spoke. “Things aren’t always as they appear. Not until you get to see it for yourself. One lived among you, for years, seeking nothing more than to exist and live as a human. Believed he was human. Yet, one piece of data tore that all away, through no fault of his own. Where do we draw the line? How do we judge the world if we don't know exactly what the world is made of?”

Desdemona skillfully extracted the white form of a cigarette from her person, lighting it carefully with the flick of a match and drawing the trickling smoke with a deep inhale. Her words were nearly visible as tendrils of the cloud escaped her lips, “Maybe, just maybe, Elder Maxson was wrong about a few things.”

It was treading on the edge of a blade as she spoke. One missed step and it could cause a slip where people would bleed.

“Maybe it’s just easier killing things when you’ve been convinced not to have an attachment to it,” she clarified, stealing a glance at her audience.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the group with tension, like a string on an instrument twisted one turn too tight. Even Reed looked up from her tending of Danse as fingers gently held aloft the deep red life-saving liquid, draining it into his system. Deacon, too, had paused, wondering if perhaps Dez had gone a tad too far with her speech. She was bold like that. Danse tried to focus through the swirling of his chem-crash. No doubt if he had been in better condition, he would be apt to attempt control of the situation before anything got too heated between the two groups.

Briefly, he struggled to sit up, as if making to get involved. Braced an elbow against the earth. Flexed what muscles worked. It trembled with weakness there as he sought to prop himself up. A worried hand touched his bicep as he did so, drawing his focus up to the features of his lover as he struggled. A tightness in his side warned him to be mindful of the remaining stitches. _He would_. It was too raw and painful to push himself much further in this moment. Fortunately, a supportive arm came to press behind his shoulders and helped him sit up. He was grateful no one moved to hold him down like some patient. An appreciative glance fell to Deacon for the assist.

“Dez, it’s not… that easy…” Danse mustered.

The Railroad leader cast him a curious glance, brow raising in mock humor.

“Coming from the very one that they threw away… Interesting. You’d think of all people, you’d advocate the acceptance of synths,” Dez said, although her tone was not as argumentative as the words might have sounded.

A slow shake of his head was all he could manage, “Orders are… orders. If it’s all you know, it’s… hard to imagine anything else. Asking for change is… one thing. You can’t erase years of… “ He winced, holding his side slightly, “… years of hate just like that.”

Dez was staring at him in the open, smoke trailing between her fingertips. A tapping motion rid the glowing end of any accumulated ash. A slow drag drew out the silence between them.

“Hate is something the Commonwealth has in excess,” she responded evenly. “Maybe now we can start to change that perspective. After all, you were once one of the most respected officers within the Brotherhood, despite being a synth. If anyone can begin to alter the undue prejudice against them, it would best start with you, don’t you think?”

Danse allowed the words to hang without a response. It was Rook that came to mind in this moment. A single creature that had undone years of his own bias against the wasteland and those that dwelled within it. It had been uncomfortable at first, admitting the flaw. The flaw that was to assume any and all of a single kind were inherently harmful. Brown eyes briefly glanced to those that still bore the insignia that had carved out so much of his very identity all those years.

“One day at a time, Dez…” he concluded, each joint inflamed from his chem-binge. “It’s been… a hard day. Now is not... not the time for philosophy.” These soldiers, once under his care, were out of communication with their group. Unsure. Now would not be the time for lessons and morals. To push too hard would only make matters worse in the long run. A deep brown gaze drifted slightly to those that stood within earshot. Faces familiar. Faces and names he could recall even now. Some matched his gaze for only a moment. Others looked away, expressions tense.

_It would not change overnight. Perhaps the only cause for the lack of bullets exchanged between the group was a hesistant truce._

An uncomfortable silence fell over both factions.

Dez had successfully spoken her mind without being shot by the Brotherhood. Most would consider that a huge victory in the scheme of things.

Danse relaxed against the effort and sank once more to the ground. A gentle squeeze could be felt upon his arm. Supportive. Delicate. It didn’t matter what the outcome was between the two factions now. Matters would settle as they would, one way or another. What mattered now was the company in which he kept. Safe. They were safe. Out of the Institute. As soon as he was well, there would be no hesitation in putting distance between them and the potential backlash that lay in wait for the Commonwealth after the escape of the Railroad and synth-kind.

In the distance, a thunderous boom echoed out over the landscape. Deep, low. Felt in the chest more than heard with the ears. It was soft at first, like the beginning of a breeze. Soon, it grew in volume until the rumbling turned into that of a violent explosion within the downtown core. A massive white pluming cloud reached up towards the sky, higher than even the vertibirds could venture.

It mingled with the clouds for a moment before punching through them, forcing the white masses to part into a ring. Outward it flared, flattening at the top. Trees flexed in the distance before it hit them. A massive and abrupt wind that smelled of ash and burnt concrete.

Deacon held fast the bandages they had just replaced, leaning over the fallen form of the synth as an added level of protection. Instinctively, the Vault dweller did the very same as dust and dirt swirled about them from the shockwave.

It was true that nuclear explosions took on a shape familiar to that of a mushroom, it seemed.

The reactor had been detonated.

The Institute was no more than a smoking hole in the ground where there had once been so much promise.

Eyes from all that had gathered here turned to face the scene as the winds died and the blast of heat but barely rose a single degree. Stunned faces could be seen all around. From the Agents to the field-tested soldiers. Only minutes ago it had been they who would have been within that blast. They all knew it, felt it. How close it had been. Even a few moments longer and perhaps they would not be here discussing morals and opinions of the Commonwealth.

“Dez, was that…?” Deacon asked, voice soft as he sat up.

“That wasn’t us, Deacon,” she responded as she took in the scene, pushing back the mess of locks that was her mangled hair. Emotions ran deep within her agents. Their mission had been completed, even if their hand had not been the one to pull the trigger.

“How did he know we got out safely?” asked one of the Knights, turning to address his comrade in arms.

“He didn’t,” responded Rhys, who continued to focus eyes upon the shifting form that was the explosion. It was blurring now with the wind. Black smoky tendrils reached up from all around, boasting of individual fires at the surface.

They knew, the soldiers. They knew they’d been left behind. The explosion, however, seemed to drive the point home more than any words could have. They had been expendable. Such was the way of battle, of course. Yet, it had not been in the glory of battle that they had been left. It had been through a decision of their very leader to lock the door.

Scattered around the open field had been over a half dozen experienced BOS veterans. Knights. Even a Proctor. Ingram had always felt indebted to Elder Maxson after his assistance in providing her a means to continue her duties after the loss of both of her legs. Allowing her to maintain the Prydwen in a way no one else could.

Looking down, she couldn’t help but face her thoughts.

In truth, she was more artificial than the former Paladin that lay injured at their feet.

There had been no hesitation to call for his assassination after word had come out of his connection to the Institute.

Yet, he bled just as she did. Flesh and blood beneath the surface.

Paladin Reed could have been labeled as a traitor for all that she had done. For failing to kill a man marked for death, and instead aided in his escape. For joining forces with a faction that went against everything the Brotherhood stood for against synths and their kind. Yet, it had been that very same traitor who had helped them escape when their leader had left them behind. That very same Paladin who had openly explained events without trying to pass blame. No longer were matters as clear-cut as they had been made to appear.

“Were we wrong, Rhys?” Ingram asked in quiet tones.

The Knight had barely heard her.

A flattened nose made it hard to breathe. Lips parted to keep the veteran from suffocating himself. Carefully, he wiped the blood away from his top lip with the back of a hand, wincing as he slightly bumped the tender tissue. It would likely have to be set in the next little while, or else it would just be more painful down the road when they did.

“Yeah…” he said simply, glancing at the Proctor. “Maybe.”

It was as much as the prideful Knight was willing to admit.


	26. Aftermath

“No,” he said, gaze cast unfocused at the table.

It was more out of reflex that he found himself holding his side these days. The pain was much less than had been even just a fortnight ago. Tender, still mending, but no longer a raging inferno of angrily severed nerves and burning tissues.

Dark brown eyes glanced up to consider the person standing in front of him with a heavy mind.

It wasn’t as easy as it used to be. There was more to measure now. More thought. More time needed to consider the repercussions of anything going forward. It had been quiet the last handful of weeks on the outskirts of the city, secluded away in the wasteland countryside. An enjoyable kind of quiet. A different peace. A hint at what a different future might hold as they moved on. It was easier to picture now. Easier to see the possibilities of a future away from what life had been within the Brotherhood. It no longer caused him anxiety. Instead, it brought out a renewed type of purpose.

Rough fingertips could feel the edge of the remaining bandages held in place by just a simple wrapping around his torso beneath the rough grey cotton shirt he wore. No more stitches. No more gaping wound. It was easier to move around now. Easier to breath. For that, he was thankful. Sleeping was easier as well, no longer being roused to wake in the middle of the night by painful movements.

Fingertips traced the line of a taped edge for a moment in thought before he shook his head with a deep exhale.

“I don’t have an answer for you, Rhys,” he said. The tone of his words left little open for discussion.

In front of him, the Knight frowned slightly. Rhys glanced away. As if he may find the words that would resolve this stalemate scribbled somewhere on the uneven wooden surface of the table. The air within the small thrown-together building was stale. In the distance, thunder from a radstorm promised to bring a refreshing, if irradiated, wind.

Despite everything, it was good to see that the Knight was coming around in his perspective on Commonwealth life. Although it may have been too little too late, given the current situation. Of course, nothing was ever truly too late, given the right motivation. However, some resolutions were more difficult to attain than others.  Like now. Like this. _Where would a person even begin to start unraveling the depth of this troubling matter?  
_

“I understand, sir,” was all the Knight said, dismissing himself as he stood. It was clear he didn’t understand entirely. Even so, he made no motion to argue further. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to return to my duties. Ad Vic… I…” he seemed flustered for a moment, expression twisting with what may have been embarrassment, “I’m… glad to see you are well, sir.”

It pained Michael to have this conversation just as much as it bothered the Knight. Neither were willing to openly admit it. _Pride, perhaps._ Instead, he simply nodded, “Ad Victorium, Rhys. It was good to see you again too.”

Both men concluded their discussion as the Brotherhood Knight slipped without a further word from the room. A silence enveloped the scene, disturbed only occasionally by the sound of work being done in the distance. A distant drum of thunder rumbled over the landscape.

They needed the rain.

Still, the brooding of the approaching storm seemed to match his mood. Unconscious fingers gently pressed in an exploitative way along the tenderness of his side. It was getting better. He was far more functional now than even just a short while back. Still, it didn’t help much now. A frown drew across his features further as he mused in the dim light. There were still limitations to what he could involve himself in with his current state. It may have been better than it was, but he was still not what he had once been. Not just yet. _Soon._

Somewhere close by, a small generator hummed. Above, hanging from the low ceiling, a single bulb illuminated the small workshop.

It was a difficult situation, and one which he was unhappy at how unable he was to address it. It had made sense that Rhys would seek him out. It was a matter he appreciated being briefed on, even if he could offer no direct aid or insight at this time. What was even more confusing was that others were turning to him still in their time of need. Even after all that had happened. He was labeled a traitor. A betrayer to the cause. _Why risk coming to talk to him now?_ All of the troubles he had had as of late was a direct result of his involvement with the Brotherhood. It was proving difficult to truly move away from his past. It lingered like a fog, drifting in and out of sight at the most inopportune times.

Fingers twitched slightly as he rubbed his thumb between them, suddenly mindful of how long it had been since he’d last touched a cigarette. _Back aboard the Prydwen, most likely._ A small part of him wondered if he might track one down at this hour. Another part knew it would do little good to ease his mind's troubled thoughts.

“What do you think?” he asked as he continued to stare at the table.

Danse rubbed his face slightly with his other hand, lifting it slowly as he continued to be careful of sudden movements. An ache was developing behind his eyes in the form of a headache. It really hadn’t been all that long since the Institute. A few of the chem-withdrawl symptoms continued to linger like a festering of the mind.

This hadn’t helped any.

She chewed her lip briefly before pressing her lips together. The edges of her lips also creased downward in thought.

“This is getting deep, Michael,” she said in an almost neutral fashion, although sympathetically so.

He knew she was giving him a chance to come to his own conclusion on matters. He appreciated that. Carefully, he leaned back in his chair, balancing the wooden structure on its rear legs while he sat. Feet lowered and raised slightly as he rocked in balance.

“What would be your plan of action?” he decided to open the door for discussion.

It was the authoritative voice that addressed her now. A tone she knew well. The leader. An analytical mind. One for gathering intel, for formulating plans. The tone reflected years of working beneath the title of Paladin, of holding accountability for the success of specific missions. A part of Gladen was glad to see that Danse had not lost his identity after all that had happened. Not all of it, anyway.

Gladen moved closer as she spoke. She pinched the bridge of her nose slightly as if it might help her think more deeply.

“Why the settlements, though?” she began. “Provisions, maybe, but through such aggressive tactics? They destroyed the gate to get in here today, Danse. If it hadn’t been us, they would have taken this place by force. It wasn’t long ago that we lost touch with a few settlements on the Eastern side of the Commonwealth. No wonder they failed to rendezvous for the trade lines. They’re probably under duress.”

Although it irked her, her tone proudly conveyed a stern calm instead.

She knew he could read through it, so there was no sense in getting too heated.

“I thought after the Institute the focus would be matters like… the Mutants in the downtown core. Maybe tracking the escaped synths and wayward scientists, if that was still seen as such a threat. Or maybe put effort into flushing out the raiding parties that are growing in size in the urban central,” Gladen half-leaned, half-sat on the edge of the table with arms folded across her chest. The tone grew sad as she spoke. _Perhaps slightly disheartened._ “What changed?”

Danse shook his head gently. Black hair was slightly askew, still a touch wet from a recent much-welcome shower. He wasn’t sure. Several guesses could be made, but they would be just that; _Guesses._ It could be any number of reasons. New council, maybe. A change in threat identification. A new tactic for flushing out someone of interest within the Commonwealth; A possibility, given their recent involvement with the Institute. Perhaps a merit of ego. Perhaps a lust for glory, for power. It could be any number of possibilities.

“I can’t keep running,” she said, looking at nothing in particular, thoughts in a distant place.

All four legs of the chair came to settle on the concrete.

“We won’t do anything that isn’t necessary,” Danse’s tone softened slightly, dropping its leadership type of edge. There would be enough time for more military-style discussions and analysis when it wasn’t so late at night.

Gingerly, he rose from his seat, hand still pressing his side in mild protection. A few short steps brought him around the table's edge as he reached out to his female counterpart. Gently, he squeezed her arm in both reassurance and to draw her from her thoughts. If there were any two people who could contest for analytical tendencies, they both occupied this very room. It was how they operated so well within the field. Understood each other so well in times of crisis. And seemed to be able to read what the other may be thinking. Green gaze flicked up to meet his own, and Michael was hard-pressed to maintain his sour mood.

“We’ll discuss this more in the morning, and investigate some of our own sources to verify what might be happening out there,” he said with a thoughtful nod. “Then we’ll better know what we’re up against.”

He was relieved as she uncrossed her arms and seemed to relax under the promise. There were enough matters to worry about when it came to life in the wasteland; There was no sense in her taking this on as a worry as well.

“I should see to how the repairs are coming along with the makeshift gate,” she said, standing up fully.

A single brow rose upon his features as Michael fixed his companion with a light-hearted, yet disapproving, look. “No,” he said slowly, drawing out the word. “You will be going to get some much needed rest and leave matters until the morning. I’ll see to it shortly. I won’t have you pushing yourself any more than you need to, especially if I need you fully operational for tomorrow.”

Gladen had remembered quite quickly how successful arguing with Danse could be as he began recovering from his wounds a few weeks back. Had they not just been attacked by a smaller Brotherhood ‘raiding’ party, lead by Knight Rhys himself, she might have even smiled at realizing how much Danse was still, _well,_ Danse.

Instead, she settled for an alternative, reaching up to touch the side of his face in silent thanks. A gratefulness for his words, his reassurance, and his very presence here with her now. It could have ended differently, she realized. It could have ended with his being wounded upon the road, or within the Institute. They could have all died recently in the explosion. _All of them._ So many things could have turned out differently.

And so, she wasn’t about to spend her time arguing against his caring authority.

“You’re right,” she said with an appreciate look that softened the stress of his features. “I’ll grab something to eat and turn in for the night. You take this shift, love. Wake me if anything else exciting happens.”

Reed drew in close to her still-injured companion for a brief embrace as her lips pressed softly to the bit of rough that was his cheek. It never bothered her; The stubble. It reminded her of how she had often seen him; In the field for weeks at a time, always on the move. Never could she truly picture the former Paladin to be ‘clean-cut’.

It was different now. Still the same, but different. He had asked for patience. Patience with him as they moved forward from recent events surrounding his identity. Patience with him as he settled into the different rhythms of the world around him without the military-styled life, without orders, without missions. And so it had been different. Matters between them were softer now, of a more gentle touch at times. Patience was offered, and for that, he was grateful. As the wounds healed on the surface, so too were the wounds healing within. With each passing day, he felt more able to exist as he once was, even if the world around him may have changed.

He still felt the same. Still retained those years on the field, all the events that had happened prior. Yet, where once had been passionate and needful embraces with his female companion, he found himself growing fond of the gentle interactions they had with one another now. Grievous wounds reminded even the strongest veteran to move more slowly, more mindfully. In a way, it was an interesting lesson to not have to be quite so bold.

That was not to say that the mind was not certainly willing to be bold, of course. But there would be such a time when he did not have to clutch his side when climbing stairs, and in that, it would be easier to give thought to activities that required far more prowess than he currently possessed.

He loosened his arm from his side as he savored her brief embrace. Each hand fell to the small of her waist as she leaned in close, the grip mindful but easily felt. The texture of her buttoned-up shirt was softer than his own, patterned in interlocking stripes that were heavily faded and bleached in some areas. Yet, it was functional, and not unpleasant to look upon.

His hands hesitated for a moment as he held her, his deep brown gaze drifting down in thought.

It was then that her hands were upon his with their delicate touch. Fingers more slender than his own. They had seen less battle than him. Not hardened from years of working on power suits. Lacking scars from fistfights and the marks that spoke of previously broken knuckles. His were calloused where hers were more apt for delicate work. He had seen her put together and upgrade their rifles; A skill that required finesse. Those hands were upon his now, and squeezed his just enough to draw him from his thoughts.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, quietly, green eyes attempting to seek his downward gaze as she nearly whispered.

With her hands upon his own, she gently guided his touch until his palms came to rest at the small swell at her lower torso just above the crest of her hips. Perhaps some knew by now. Perhaps those that may have known what to look for. It would be more difficult to hide as time went on. But to touch, to run ones fingers across the flesh, it was most easily felt and identified. Her touch wasn’t an urgent or forceful guiding of the hands. It was not insistence. It was an invitation. To ease a curiosity. To banish the anxiety and nerves that may have dwelled with the unknown. To let him know it was alright. 

Few things could bring about a sense of nervousness from the former field officer. It took a fair amount. Such as an enemy successfully breeching the defenses was one way. Running out of ammunition during a particularly trying event was another. Yet, his heart raced almost equally now. A sense of nervousness that he hadn’t quite expected.

It was not an unfamiliar topic between them, as they had spoken of it once the worst of his chem-induced exhaustion had concluded. There was still elements of the unknown, however. Perhaps, even, a slight awkwardness that he felt at being utterly unfamiliar with his role in this type of matter.

Hesitating a moment, he ventured to feel the form that was there. Gingerly, he allowed a hand to move slightly, fingers to spread as he passed his fingertips over the swell she now possessed. He swallowed now, scarcely realizing he’d been nearly holding his breath, unsure of what to say.  

It was hard to identify any specific feeling other than heart-racing. It was a different kind of butterflies-in-the-stomach than he was used to. Yet, not unpleasant.

_It certainly was different now._

So many things to consider moving forward.

It was just one of the many factors influencing why he had not rushed off with Rhys to investigate the Brotherhood’s missteps.

“All the more reason you should get your rest,” Danse managed to find his tongue after a time, finally daring to meet her gaze despite the emotionally vulnerable moment. Somehow, times such as this made him feel exposed in a way that was difficult to put words to. Yet again there was appreciation for his companion’s understanding and patience with him. _She needn’t worry about matters such as fortifications_. _That, he could handle._ “You go. I’ll see to the gates and ensure the perimeter is secure. Once everything is complete, I’ll join you.”

As always, the gaze that met his was kind and warming of the chest. A soft and delicate smile upon those familiar features.

“Then I’ll see you shortly,” she said, squeezing his hand one last time before departing from the small workshop.

Silence reigned for several minutes after the door had closed behind her.

In the distance, the radstorm growled but appeared to be skirting past them. It may miss them completely, depending on the winds. With a deep breath, Danse composed his thoughts. Hand returned out of habit to hold the spot where he now lacked a lower rib.

It still bothered him that the Brotherhood had attacked the settlement. What bothered him more so was that, upon seeing Reed on the wall, the attack had ceased and council instead was requested. _It was unusual._ Rhys had explained, of course. Explained about orders, about how they were becoming increasingly questionable in nature. About scouts apparently released to investigate the defensive measures of Diamond City and Good Neighbor. About how vertibirds were being deployed and marking intel on viable outposts, even if currently occupied. They were tactics that painted a troubling picture.

A headache drummed gently. _He could do with some rest as well._

Exiting the workshop, Danse made to investigate just how much damage the Brotherhood had managed to cause against the settlement’s largest gate. Sunshine Co-op had been established and built into a thriving community settlement through hard work and determination of many different peoples. It was successful, bountiful and secure. If all could mirror its success, the Commonwealth could very well unite against several troubles facing those in this time. Against hunger, against raiders, against the hopeless odds. Weakness to the perimeter could invite unwanted guests other than the Brotherhood if the opportunity arose. Holding his side, he crossed the expanse of the yard in a determined stride. Falling into a tactically mindful role was practically automatic to him.

Several people were sealing the entrance with what provisions they could. It wasn’t pretty, but it appeared to be working, at least. Any visible fortification would be more useful than a gaping and damaged hole in their expansive wall. Already discussion was taking place between a few of the more engineering-minded settlers as to how best to repair the gate, or even improve on the original design. It wouldn't be surprising to have an entirely new design concept by morning, now that certain flaws had been identified in the original gates capabilities.

A familiar face was assisting with some of the heaviest portions of the re-construction. It was easy to see the tall form standing a head-and-a-half above the rest in the darkness, illuminated here and there by bare bulbs on nearby buildings and a cook fire not far off.

“Rook,” Danse asked, looking up at his unusual companion. _If anything, at least the Deathclaw would have made it difficult for the Brotherhood to take this settlement without a fight._ That was comforting, in a strange way. “Once you’re done here, find Nick and meet me. I think we need to send you on a task.”

Rook rumbled something as he finished hauling a particularly large piece of lumber into position against several others that had been artfully stacked. The creature gave it a firm and successful shove with his muzzle as it fell perfectly into place with a hollow thud, securing its position amongst the other beams. Pale eyes turned to address his companion, blinking in a questioning manner. A strange mixture of a clicking noise mixed with that of a thrum came from deep within his throat.

“I hope not, but it might come to that,” Danse said, rubbing the back of his neck slightly. “Find Nick, I’ll explain the rest.”

Almost in a cruel sense of humor, the clouds began to release their payload of rain to the landscape around them, soaking those in attendance. It would make for a long night to be working in the cool of wet clothing.

Briefly, Michael wondered if he might get to bed at all this night.


	27. Keep Moving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Caution: Sexual content of a graphic nature is featured in this chapter. You've been advised)

It was as they had feared.  
  
Reports soon came back with news confirming details that verified the truth of Knight Rhys’ words. Confirming the deployment of various scout troops to locations that seemed either promising or tactically irrelevant. There was no pattern that they could see from the altercations. News came of two settlements that had been thrown into disarray as they were forcefully overtaken by a recon group and established as a new outpost for the Brotherhood. Some settlers had fled in the fight. Others were unable to leave of their own volition as they were forced to tend the fields under orders.  
  
The news did not sit well.  
  
Danse stared heavily at his T-60 power armor as it hung on the maintenance brackets, positioned for work on the massive yellow lift. Hands were clasped in front him as he casually rubbed the black grease from his calloused digits. It had been some time since he’d been able to work on the mechanics of his armor. Some time since he had really set foot in the larger of the two workshops on the settlement grounds. Currently he sat alone. In a way, it helped alleviate some of the tension and frustration he was feeling to keep his hands busy. Allowed him to put his thoughts aside whenever he picked up a wrench and set to task, even if only for a short time.  
  
Now he sat, staring at his work in idle thought.  
  
Intel could be both helpful and yet obscure. Confirming reports highlighted the gravity of the situation, while at the same time offering little in the ways of a clear path to resolution.  
  
Sweat beaded on his bare chest as he sat propped on a plain wooden stool. One heel hooked on the lower rung of the foot rest. A simple cotton wrapping continued to cling to his side, wound about his torso for protection. However, working on the suit had been a trying task and the bandages appeared somewhat worse for wear. Tossing the rag onto a nearby workbench, Danse turned his focus to himself for a minute. Unwrapping the bandages took only a few seconds as he untied the cotton wrappings and pulled off the packed gauze rectangle from his ribs.  
  
It was mending more readily now than before. The skin was still somewhat pink around the edges of the knitting wound. The edges of the gash were nearly sealed, save for a red edge here and there in the deepest parts. It was no longer a gaping void. Instead it was now a skin-covered scar for the most part. It did not look truly grievous at all compared to how it had been before. Perhaps the only clue to the severity of the injury was the slight hollow that occurred beneath the muscles. A distinct lack of rib that should have been there. That, and the sheer size of the scarring that occupied much of the side despite its healed state.  
  
He was mindful of his hands and did not explore the wound further. He would dress it shortly. Frowning, he took inventory of the progress. Without anger, perhaps just a mild annoyance, the discarded bandages were tossed to the floor. It was frustrating to still be shackled with incapability. To be forced to remain idle when the mind was eager to deal with the problems of the world.  
  
The object sat off to the side as he considered and weighed the implications.  
  
He was alone in the larger workshop. Not far from his own T-60 power armor stood Reed’s suit. Stationary. Unoccupied. It boasted the original colors of the Brotherhood, whereas his had been modified to remove the titles and emblems of his position in exchange for a matte black coating. It had been done out of kindness, he knew. It did not bother him as much as one might have thought. It was still his armor, complete with all the details and roughness that had come from so many missions. Even a coat of paint couldn’t remove those qualities.  
  
There was no easy answer in all of this.  
  
What nagged at his mind was the lack of logic in all of this.  
  
Raiders were the ones that took over settlements, not soldiers. Not Knights. _And for what?_ Provisions? Locations for new outposts? He growled in frustration under his breath. All of those could be gathered through other means. He knew as much; It was something they had been tasked with before. The Brotherhood of Steel possessed a vast amount of wealth in its whole. They had purchased goods in trades and with negotiations before. If that was the purpose, why did they not just produce the caps for the items? Why ransack the villages?  
  
A dark look passed over his features, trying not to become too frustrated by it all. Idly, he glanced at the workbench beside him. _She’d be mad,_ he knew. Still, he considered it.  
  
After a moment, he picked it up. Felt the weight of it. Studied the device as if perhaps a moment of clarity might strike him as he did so.  
  
It might cause a set-back, but he was willing to take that risk. For now, he simply held it. Held it as he considered. Options rolled through his head. Behind him was the sound of the workshop side door opening on its squeaky hinges. There was no doorknob any longer, simply a handle that could be pulled or pushed to enter or leave. There was no sense in hiding it as footsteps drew closer. _Perhaps a second opinion would give him some much needed perspective._  
  
Reed knew she’d find him here.  
  
Nick still wasn’t back from his recon in the downtown core, but it was safe to assume he was likely chasing leads. Rook had returned after a few short weeks on the road with Preston and the Minutemen. A small group had been dispatched to investigate what had caused the radio-silenced settlements on the East coast. Confirmation returned that there was Brotherhood occupation of those locations. Even if the settlers appeared alive and well, it was obvious to any of those looking on that they were not of their free will to leave.  
  
If such reports sat poorly with her, it was hard to imagine the perspective Danse had on matters.  
  
And yet, he hadn’t shouted at the news. Hadn’t raged. He had simply shaken his head with a disapproving look. Shortly thereafter, he had slipped away to be with his thoughts.  
  
Nothing surprised her much out here anymore. Perhaps that was why she was strangely calm as she joined her companion in his solace.  
  
“I thought I might find you here,” she said, briefly touching his shoulder. She glanced at what he was holding. A sigh. _It made sense._ She paused for a moment before deciding she wouldn’t get mad at him for it. These were trying times. “After that, what would be your plan? If you don’t relapse, that is.”  
  
Danse stared at the Stimpak with serious consideration. She had put words to the hesitation in his mind. It had taken him longer than they had initially thought to come down from his chem-binge withdrawals. There were several symptoms that had lingered for some time afterwards. Even now, he was still troubled with random headaches that seemed to have no basis, cause or alleviating factor. It was why they had avoided treating him any further with chems, relying instead on rest and careful tending.  
  
It could accelerate his healing and get him back to nearly full function, he knew. But, the Stimpak could also cause a relapse into his withdrawals once more, triggering a cascade effect back to the hell he had crawled out of after the Institute.  
  
_Benefit versus risk._  
  
“I need to find out what’s happening,” he said, facial features sitting in tension. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he subtly clenched his teeth. It was bothering him more than he let on to sit idly by while something that still held a place in his heart was troubled. “I can’t do anything from behind these walls.”  
  
This was not what the Brotherhood was about. They had always been in the interest of helping the people of the Commonwealth against those that would bring them harm. And now they were to be the ones labeled hostile?  
  
He relaxed his hand, realizing he’d been holding the Stimpak a little too tightly in his frustration.  
  
“Then let’s go.”  
  
He blinked and looked up from his brooding.  
  
“Our location has been blown regardless,” Reed continued as she gave his shoulder a slight squeeze before turning to look at their T-60s. Both hung and waiting. “Even if Rhys is on our side, reports are already out there about this settlement as a point of interest,” she put voice to the thoughts in her mind.  
  
She crossed the room to her work station. A hand reached out to the metal chain hanging from her maintenance rack’s hoist. It clicked idly as she manually lowered the counter-balance. Slowly, the suit descended from the frame.  
  
“If they’re looking for us, then they’ve already succeeded. If they’re looking for settlements, they will try for this one again. What we need to do is find out what else is going on. What else might be happening that we haven’t considered. And we can’t do that from here.”  
  
Danse watched his recruit, his lover, in silence. There were times in which he often felt isolated out here. In moments such as these, he was reminded with surprisingly clarity just how well they worked together as a team. It stunned him slightly to hear her put words to it. Perhaps… perhaps a part of him had worried that he would forever be stuck behind a settlement’s walls in order to journey down this future path together. Yet, here was the mother to his unborn child, unracking her own power armor and more than willing to jump into the fray with him.  
  
_Perhaps things wouldn’t change as much as he thought they might._  
  
He welcomed the familiar feeling; the excitement of a mission.  
  
With it, however, came worry.

 _That was new._  
  
She was right, of course, but there were other matters to consider now.  
  
“You say this like you think you’re coming with me,” he commented, brows lowering in thought.  
  
It was a raised eyebrow that met his own gaze, green eyes matching his with a daring expression.  
  
“If you think you’ll be doing any missions alone, you’re going to need more than a Stimpak to stand a chance against stopping me,” she boasted somewhat jokingly. Notes of seriousness were apparent within the words.  
  
A small part of his pride swelled in his chest at the exchange. How he had truly lucked out in finding such an incredible woman out here. Not only beautiful, but confident enough to even stand her ground with him. He could count on one hand the number of times any recruits in his past had tried to stand up to him during exchanges. Still, the larger part of him was stern as he spoke.  
  
“I can’t risk anything happening to you out there. To either of you,” he said, genuinely frowning as he stood. It took only a few strides to cross floor as he put a hand on hers, pausing her efforts to ready her power armor with a halting grip. He shook his head slightly.  
  
Reed didn’t look at him now as she stared ahead as if gathering her words. Her gaze swept to meet his after a few moments. It was equally as intense as his own. She didn’t have to yell for the words to have their impact. “You don’t get the risk your life alone anymore, Michael. We need you to be around after all of this is done.”  
  
It was an unrelenting force against an immovable object.  
  
The field officer drew a breath and let it out slowly. His jaw worked slightly, considering. He was still unhappy with the idea, but knew what would inevitably happen if he left without her. It wouldn't take her long to find him.  
  
“You need someone to watch your back,” she said evenly. _Like they had always done before._  
  
“I don’t agree with this,” he said as he fixed her with a disapproving look. “I still think it would be best if I went alone. But… I can’t protect you while you’re here if I’m not around. If, at any point during this mission matters are too dangerous, I want you to leave. No questions asked. Is that understood?”  
  
_Ever the officer._  
  
“Affirmative,” she said, unflinching under his scrutinizing gaze.  
  
Danse maintained a firm expression for a time before his features began to soften. He exhaled through his nose and shook his head. As much as he might have disapproved of her joining him, a small part of him was excited at the idea. It gave him a purpose. Missions were what he knew, what had come to build who he was. Out there, on the frontlines, was where he truly felt whole. Like himself.  
  
So, he had difficulty maintaining any level of disapproval for very long as the idea of moving out began to settle in.  
  
“We should run a systems diagnostic on both suits,” he said, looking her T-60 up and down briefly. “Ensure both are running at full capability. Mine needs a few repairs. So long as you haven’t been gallivanting about without me knowing, yours should be in fairly routine condition.”  
  
The sound of chains clicking over pulleys continued until her large suit came to rest on the floor. Reed released the metallic links, dusting her hands off as she took a moment to look as well.  
  
She had been about to speak, about to recommend they do a full visual suit inspection to be on the safe side, when familiar arms were around her. They turned her gently, but invitingly, towards him. A hand upon her hip as it pulled her close. The other swept the hair back from the side of her face as his lips found hers in a bold and passionate manner. Automatically she found her arms holding firm to him in the embrace.  
  
Matters had been… cautious lately. Careful. Mindful. Him with his wounds. Her with her condition. As if both were somehow fragile now.  
  
This embrace was wanting, and more than welcome. Her fingertips pressed gently against his bare flesh of his chest, wondering when the last time was that his bare skin was beneath her touch. _Too long._  
  
As both parted, each drew a quickened breath. Her eyes found his with a hint of confusion, wondering what had brought that about. He continued to hold her close, as if unwilling to let their touching bodies apart. Of course, as time went on, it would be more difficult to be so very close as the unborn infant grew. But for now, she was still able to press near to his form with only a mild bump between them.  
  
Just barely, just ever so slightly, his palm slid from her hip to rest at the edge of the delicate swell that she possessed. He was still cautious, still a little unsure, but was becoming less timid with her support and guidance in recent time.  
  
“I won’t let anything happen to us,” he said at a volume barely above a whisper, touching his forehead to hers.  
  
It wasn’t unlike how some of their evenings had ended up when they worked out in the field. Of close quarters. A vacant warehouse barely illuminated by a dim light. Or perhaps the flickering oranges of a small and warming fire. Surrounded by musty tool benches and concrete floors with only the power suits as chaperones. Repairs and upgrades were the intention, but oftentimes the focus would drift to other activities as the night wore on.  
  
It was when he shifted uncomfortably that she realized it must have touched on his mind as well; Those thoughts of evenings in working on repairs. The feel of his form against hers was proof enough that hers was not the only blood getting heated in the cool air of the outbuilding. The slightest of smirks touched the edge of her lips as she looked up to regard him, eyebrow raising playfully.  
  
Realizing she had taken notice to his stiffness, the former officer took a half step back with a heavy swallow that was followed by a slight clearing of his throat. Dark gaze broke from hers, drifting to the floor for a moment before glancing up to meet her gaze briefly.  
  
“I… ah…”  
  
It was endearing to witness the blush of his cheeks.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he managed. “It’s just… “

 _How could he put into words what was going through his mind?_  
  
“I miss being in the field too,” she said with a soft laugh. “You don’t need to apologize. I’ll take that… as a compliment.”  
  
The bloom of color continued to linger faintly beneath the veil of stubble on his cheeks.  
  
“I realize… I wouldn’t ask anything of you now,” he attempted to explain further, coming across somewhat flustered. “I know we can’t. It’s just… the workshop brings back memories. I don’t…”  
  
Reed tilted her head slightly with an openly playful smile. A laugh stifled in her throat as she put a hand on his chest to interrupt him. “Where did you get ‘we can’t’ from?” her words were light-hearted.  
  
His brows lowered as if failing to understand her meaning.  
  
She touched his flushed cheek with her hand, green eyes seeking his openly.

“Let me show you.”

* * *

It reminded him of their first night together.

A little cautious. A little unsure. Dimly lit. The air chilled. A sense of trepidation between them both. Except now there was a sense of comfort in the others presense where there had not been that first evening together. A level of trust with their shared intimacy. Experiences in days past remembered. It simply needed rekindling to bring such feelings back to that of a passionate flame. Scarcely he noticed the wound on his side as he was lost in a sea of sensation. Just a dull ache now and then that practically went unnoticed. His mind was far too distracted to give heed to the tension there. It lay open to the air for now. They would wrap it later when the moment had finished.  
  
Twin hands braced heavily against his bare chest. Fingertips occasionally pressing more firmly against the skin there as the pleasure within rolled like waves lapping at a beach. On flexing thighs he rested his own guiding grip. Firm hands against the smooth flesh that held him a willing prisoner beneath their embrace. Each hand savoured the touch, felt the shifting of her thighs as she took him deep within herself. His movements would catch her own at times, grip seeking to slow or guide the pace as the passionate edge would draw near. Beneath him was the comfort of the bed they now shared. Quiet and away from the others. It was a place he knew well after so many days spent unable to venture outside. In this moment, it seemed as if to not exist at all.  
  
Gripping at her hip somewhat firmly, he sought to slow her movements as he attempted to catch his breath. Mind wondered briefly when they had last spent an evening together such as this.  
  
_It had been so long._  
  
Each was breathing heavily with want. Ripples of sensation crept up along his spine and seemed to dwell in every inch of his form. Eyes closed against it for a moment, drawing a deep breath. Regaining composure, eyes once more took measure of the beauty mounted above him as she took him readily.  
  
Michael reached beneath her and began to caress slowly and mindfully at the sensitivity hidden there. Each circle of his touch drawing her to arch against the attention. A gasp fell from her lips, silenced by a brief biting of ones lip. A moan dwelled deep within her throat in satisfaction. It was easy to feel her legs tremble around him as they gripped at his hips. He could feel his manhood ache within her, unable to come any further to attention. Eyes drank in the form of her subtle curves and relished as she rocked her hips wantingly against his touch. A sigh fell from her lips, catching slightly. As she reached up to touch of her breast, he found himself fighting to keep his tongue from uttering lustful notes as well.  
  
It was as if she were reading his thoughts, for she took his other hand from her hip and placed it upon her full breast in earnest. Out of reflex, his hips moved against hers, feeling the way the lustful orbs shifted in his embrace. They appeared somewhat fuller than how he had remembered. Each movement sent them swaying with allure. An urgent touch brought her closer to his form, lowering her until he could feel the heat of her flesh practically against his chest. Lips found the bountiful orbs he sought, nipping at the taught flesh as hand once more came to rest upon the small of her back.  
  
While his body practically screamed with urgency, it was the mind that willed the moment to last forever.  
  
He didn’t want it to end.

If it had been arousing to have her form as close as it had been within the workshop, it had been practically cruel to cast free their garments and put touch to bare flesh. There had been little time before matters became utterly heated and full of want. It had seemed as if they might not even make it their bed. It would have been a lie to say he had not considered taking her right then and there in the workshop.  
  
His companion began to move against him now with renewed intensity as she chased her own pleasure. The tone of her sighs began to shift lower within her throat. Fingertips upon his flesh grasped as if they might never let go. A shudder cascaded down the flesh of her spine where his hand did lay. Through half-lidded eyes, he watched his form disappearing within the warm and welcoming flesh if his companion. It gripped him firmly. Each time it did, his own muscles would come to flex as if to send the movement deeper. Soon, he worked within her rythmically as her beautiful breasts continued to capture his attention with each bounce and sway. The curve of her thighs to hips. The flexing of her muscles as she worked against him. Copper-red hair had tumbled over each of her shoulders in fantastic disarray.

Both of his hands were on her hips once more as he moved himself upward to match each of her movements. Gently, he placed the flat of his hand just below the point of her pelvis, the spot that would make her cry out with the right touch, as she took him deeply within. It was met with approval as she began to both rock upwards against his touch and downwards with passionate strokes. A lustful gaze watched as she leaned back slightly. The warmth of her tightness was gripping him more firmly with each pass.  
  
He was breathing heavily. A sigh escaped his lips every now and again as he tried to remain steadfast. Eyes closed for a moment as he sought mental fortitude against the pleasurable onslaught.  
  
“… yes, sir…”  
  
He opened his eyes to look up at her backlit form in the darkness, hearing her whisper beneath her breath. It had caught him off-guard, incredibly so. Gently, he squeezed her hips and began to move with her more fully, more deeply, each stroke long and purposeful. He watched her as he did so, felt the tightening of her embrace. It drew a mild sound from his own lips before he could catch himself.  
  
Her own eyes were closed as lips parted in pleasure. Fingertips dug helplessly at his flesh. Waves of pleasure began to take hold her form as she lowered herself lustfully against her lover.  
  
It snuck up upon him so suddenly that he was lost to it. As her form began to clutch around him, so too did he find his own pleasure. Body and mind fell into the deep satisfaction of an orgasmic wave that crashed over him relentlessly. As he spilled himself within her, so too did she find her own cresting climax. A groan escaped his lips as head tilted back blissfully against the pillow. Each muscle in his form felt afire with the intensity of the sensation. It tingled down each extremity. It gripped within his core as each spasm struck him. He clutched her readily with strong hands as wave after wave left him helpless.

Distantly, he could hear her own cries of pleasure matching his own as they shared their intimacy in utter synchronicity.  
  
It lasted for what seemed like an eternity before ending far too soon.  
  
Each was left with chest heaving and skin glossed with sweat.

Neither moved for a time. Too shaky, limbs trembling unsteadily.

Neither were in a rush to disembark from one another.


	28. Intel

Gladen was staring down at her hands in consideration. Eyes narrowed slightly with a face that looked as if she had eaten something sour.

Today had been a poor day all around. Tiresome. Frustrating.

It did not appear that it would be concluding anytime soon.

Danse was rightfully upset. Weapons had been drawn. To say it could have gone better would have been putting it mildly. It was strange to see him standing now without his power armor, although not by his own choice, decked with familiar orange fatigues wrapped about his waist and a mildly damp shirt after the altercation that had taken place. A simmering frustration could be seen within each movement and posture. It would likely take a short time to cool down, given the disadvantage they'd been given.

Still, there were more important matters to tend to in all of this. The reason they had made the trek over the past few days. Intel. Information. It was here that they had found it, and it was difficult news to digest.

“Any survivors?” she asked, looking up from her hands.

The place looked much the same as before. An old world type of feel. Save now one of the windows was permanantly open to the wind due to broken glass and a pattern spray of bullets raked up the nearby wall. A faded square could be seen there, likely from a picture that had fallen in the fray.

“Of them?” the mayor of Good Neighbor rasped, dark eyes settling on the woman with a strange intensity. “Got a couple that managed to survive the encounter, yeah. Call me sentimental. It seemed poor sport to just outright kill them after being incapacitated. Besides, we were hoping they might be of better use without bullet holes in their skulls. Although, after what they did…”

It wasn’t surprising that Hancock’s feathers were ruffled over the incident. People had died here recently. Diamond City had closed off its own doors and gone into full lockdown mode. No trade in or out. It was a formidable location to raze. Goodneighbor, however, didn't possess such obvious defensive measures.

Or so the Brotherhood squad had thought.

It hadn’t gone quite as planned according to the reports they were being given. With the quality of the residents within the fine walls of such a tight-knit community, it was easy to see how they might have underestimated the crowd here. Not necessarily bad people all in all, but it would have been unwise to pick a fight with even the most unexperienced of their group. KL-E-O practically had an arsenal available at their disposal. Daisy had seen her fair share of altercations in the past. And Hancock… He was certainly not about to stand idly by and had done his fair share of the grunt work defending their home.

It explained why he was cautious with his one arm now, although none took the risk of commenting on it.

Seemed that Good Neighbor had held its own. For now. There was still a sense of tension in the air. An unsettled anxiety at the unknown.

The Brotherhood were not known for retreating after a defeat. At least, not for long.

A shattered window let in the breeze. The ambient light was bright enough to highlight the spray of bullets holes that arced up a wall of the Old State House.

“Where are the survivors?”

It was Danse that spoke now. He was still in a somewhat brooding mood.

A tight expression overcame the former Paladin as he regarded the ghoul Hancock with a scurinizing gaze. Even though the fold had turned their back on him, it was difficult for him to give up all emotional ties that easily. At least when it came to the soldiers as individuals, that was. He was one to follow orders as best he could, given that his last had been to steer clear of all association with the Brotherhood, but matters had greatly shifted in recent time. Imagining his former brothers and sisters held in shackles was a grim picture indeed. He didn't much enjoy it.

Then again, there had been little options. Although it was bitter to admit, he was thankful that they had been taken alive in all of this.

Still, he was unimpressed with the destruction of his T-60 and was unable to forgive entirely.

“Locked up,” Hancock rasped, black gaze taking measure of the veteran in turn. There was a silent exchange going on between the two. A conversation between the words. Unspoken, but there. Finally, the ghoul looked away and settled his attention back on Reed. “Look, I don’t know what the game is. I don’t know how this all is gonna play out. Alls I know is that the Brotherhood bastards set their sights on us and caused some real chaos. Probably ‘cleansing the Commonwealth’ or some bullshit. Either way, I’m taking a big risk having you two here, but I don’t have much else to go on. There are people here that would sooner see you two down with the other bunch as prisoners of war than to bring you up here to discuss pleasantries. So consider yourself lucky that the people here trust me. Well, as much as they'd trust anybody, I guess."

“We don’t know what’s going on either, Hancock,” Reed opened her hands in honesty. “We were sitting up at one of the settlements minding our own until a Brotherhood scouting troop tried to blow up our perimeter gate. We had no idea anything had changed with the Brotherhood after the Institute. That’s why Nick showed up and started asking questions. And why we’re here. It doesn't make sense.”

Hancock idly rubbed at an itch on the side of his face in thought, considering.

“I still don’t think it was wise for you to come,” Nick chimed in from off to the side, familiar yellow eyes a source of support in a still slightly defensive environment.

_It was good to see the detective again._

“It’s alright, Nick,” Reed said with a reassuring half-smile. “It made more tactical sense to move anyway, and perhaps luck out with some information along the way.”

“Yeah, well, not sure how much good it’s going to do you,” the ghoul added. “Given their track record, the BOS isn’t the type to just lay back and let anybody get away with standing up to them. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still be here to meet them if they try it again. Maybe this time we won’t go so easy on ‘em. But, it would be an uphill battle, given the resources at their disposal. Guts and dumb luck only count for so much around here when you're going up against a minigun.”

“Let me talk to them,” Danse uncrossed his arms. The sharp glare he’d carried ever since they incapacitated his Power armor upon arrival was starting to soften as he fell into a more tactical mindset. Something to focus on. It was a start. He was still greatly unimpressed that they’d fried the operating system of his T-60 with their electronic hijacking device, but KL-E-O was apparently trying to fix it. It was a small start in repairing trust between the groups.

_If they could fix it._

Hancock stood before the former Paladin with matched intensity. Naked and radiation scarred brows lowered dangerously.

“Look, Paladin,” he said with a slight tone. “You might not be with them now, but you were, once… for a looong time. That kind of reputation, well, it sticks to a man, you know? People remember you. The good… and the bad. My hands are tied and I got my back up against a wall, but you’ll have to excuse if I’m hesitant to believe a fucking Brotherhood war hero that is standing in my goddamn office telling me he’s on my side and wants to help. A portion of my populace was slaughtered by your former metallic henchmen. I’m a little strung up, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to get fucked over inside my own walls if you try anything.”

The words hung in the room heavily.

It could have garnered a backlash.

Reed was ready for it. A barrage of retaliation.The spark needed to set the kindling alight. A battle of leadership and bravado.

Silence.

When nothing came of it, she glanced to her lover with curious green eyes.

After a moment, Danse responded evenly and without malice.

“What choice do you have?”

Again, the unspoken battle between the two continued to smolder. Two alphas in opposing positions of power, yet not enemies. It was an unusual experience to sit idly by as the exchange took place. Each were flexing in their own way. It was subtle but it was there.

With a heavy sigh, Hancock slumped onto a nearby chair. His posture admitted no sense of defeat, but perhaps a temporary resignation. After a scarce few moments, a cigarette hung delicately to his lips and bobbed gently as he spoke. A trail of smoke curled around the tip of his tri-point hat as he lit it with the flick of a silver lighter. Dramatically, he snapped it closed.

“Not much of one,” he said with a rasp, blowing smoke. He took a quick drag before pointing a marred finger at Danse. “I don’t like BOS scum in my fucking town, but… " he paused. A frustrated sigh. "I don’t like the idea of this place being blown off the map by that scum either. Maybe things have changed. Fuck if I know. Seems nobody knows shit anymore. Too much politics if you ask me. If you think you can get any answers to this, be my guest. Prisoners are held in the old dig site down below. But if you so much as set a single toe out of step or do anything I don’t like, I won’t hesitate to blow your fucking brains out. You feel me?”

“Yeah,” Danse said with his familiar deep tone. “I got it.”

Hancock took a deep drag that sent the tip of his cigarette glowing bright orange in the ambient light. It reflected easily against the black orbs that were his eyes.

“Good,” the smoke trickled out from between his teeth. “In the meantime, she stays here. No funny business. I’m not in a joking kind of mood after all this. Go get your answers. Let me know if you find out anything useful.”

* * *

“Him? Geez, you sure know how to pick ‘em,” Hancock seemed to settle back in his chair, taking the cigarette from his lips and staring at it for a moment before snuffing it out on a nearby side table. It was scarcely a quarter finished. “Didn’t think you’d go for the type with a stick permanently lodged up that far up their ass. But, then again, I didn’t think you’d end up joining up with that kind of crew either. Seems there’s a lot I was wrong about with you.”

The first day Reed had met Hancock, he’d killed a man in front of her. More than that, he’d done so for the sake of her safety and invited her back to the Old State House to chat. As tough as his exterior was, the ghoul was more complex than he lead others to believe. For all the bad he did, it was often done in the name of good in the end. A lesser of two evils. More like an anti-hero than a vigilanty, really.

“You trust him?” he asked offhandedly.

It was a valid question.

Yet, it was powerful. Memories and thoughts came with the inquiry like lightning in her mind. Thoughts and recollections struck down with tremendous force, illuminating all the times they had spent together in situations that many might have flinched at. This world was encompassing in a way. There was no TV to pass the time. No gentle BBQs or watching the clock in an office. It was more in-depth now. Survival. Time passed more slowly now while being filled with more life than ever before. It felt as if it had been longer since she had come to the surface. Yet, it had only been a year and some time. _It felt like longer._

Gladen found herself nodding gently before realizing she was staring off. Green gaze came to settle upon the intense black voids that were Hancock’s eyes. They stared back, inquiring.

“I wouldn’t hesitate to put my life in his hands, and have more times than is even reasonable,” she said evenly, honestly. _That much was true._

The unconventional mayor leaned forward with elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together in front of himself. “What are you doing out here, Gladen?” he asked genuinely, voice rasping with familiarity. “This doesn’t have to be your fight. Either of yours.”

An eyebrow rose slightly, “What is this, Hancock? Getting sentimental all of a sudden?”

Her tone was jestful.

It garnered no amusement in response.

“Look, the people here… We know this kind of life,” Hancock’s tone was surprisingly heartfelt. “We know the kind of hardships this kind of existence presents. We’re the unpleasant underbelly of society. If you can even call it society anymore. I mean, sure, we keep to ourselves, but we’re still here. Still alive. We exist. And some people just can’t handle that. Can’t handle the idea of us one day marring the idealism that is a united Commonwealth free of scum. Problem is, we don’t get to have a say in matters. But, you do. This isn’t your lifestyle, isn’t your place, Gladen. You don’t have to be here. You got a chance to get out. You and that hard-ass boyfriend of yours. Why wouldn't you take care of yourself? Shit, girl. We almost shot you up when you came up to our merry little doorstep.

“Look, I just… You’re a decent person. One I was lucky to come across in this lifetime, you know? Not many out there like you out there anymore. Everyone's forgotten what it's like to be decent to each other. You gotta preserve that. Take care of you. Especially now,” he said with a slight gesture towards her.

“It wouldn’t sit right with me to go hide in the wasteland while so many struggle here with just trying to survive,” she replied in a gentle tone. “Who better to help stand against the Brotherhood than former officers?”

Hancock sighed and leaned back in his chair, netting his fingers behind his neck. “Maybe,” he admitted. “Still, don’t go and do anything heroic or some shit. Be practical. Those goons aren’t just some back settlement raider camp. If they turn on you, you run.”

That was entirely too true. The Brotherhood was not to be taken lightly. _  
_

Sarcasm came back into his voice after a moment, the softer side of the ghoul once more thrown behind a rough and somewhat abrasive exterior of the persona he often held. A defensive measure. A means of pushing people away and keeping respect of the less-savoury.

“You know, if you’d wanted kids, all you had to do was ask,” he quipped with familiar low-brow humor.

Reed rolled her eyes slightly with the very smallest of smirks, “For some reason, I couldn’t quite picture you as the fatherly type.”

“Nah, come on, really?” Hancock feigned offense. He stretched his legs out in front of himself, one ankle crossingover the other. Calf-high leather boots rubbed slightly with a familiar sound. “Who else will I teach all my underhanded tricks to in order to carry on the Hancock legacy? You know what, that’s alright. I’ll let this one slide. Just means I’ll have to live forever."

* * *

It was a strange sensation that crept up the back of his neck as they sought out the survivors from the Brotherhood raid. Navigating the tight-knit alleyways until they passed a secure door. Carefully they began to descend below the city. It was cooler below ground. The air was somewhat stale.

Danse supposed a portion of him should be grateful. He had felt the effects of the device they had used to disable the suits of power armor, which were none too pleasant. It was a remarkable tactic. A device that, when launched, could latch onto the exo plating of the T-60s and transmit a powerful electrical pulse that effectively overloaded the operating systems and rendered the unit none responsive. It disabled the armor without blowing the valuable equipment apart, although the risk did lie in just how much damage the electrical system would sustain. With the device deployed, they could take hold any prisoners they saw fit while utilizing the equipment for their own gain shortly afterwards, if it was salvagable. It was rather brilliant, and a touch worrisome. It was the first time he had ever heard of this particular pulse device. It seemed that no longer were power suits an ultimate edge in warfare.

He’d been taken down by one of pulse beacons at the gate of Good Neighbor when they had first arrived in search of Nick.

It wasn’t entirely pain free by any means. But, it was non-lethal to a certain extent, which was fortunate.

That, and they had the sense not to try it with Reed.

That alone was a fact to be grateful for.

While Danse’s reputation preceeded him and occasionally caused conflicts, hers was far more beneficial when out on the Commonwealth. People knew her. Perhaps it was why they hadn’t been killed on sight.

Nick seemed to have a way with the locals as well. Seems news travels fast, as he was waiting for them on the other side of the gate after the incident. A mediator in a way. A somewhat neutral party. Goodness only knew how many favours he could pull in a time of need. It always seemed as if everyone knew who Nick was, or at least, knew of the synthetic with a knack for detective work. Briefly, Danse had wondered just how long detective Valentine had been out of the Institute to develop such a wide-spread reputation. Most synths were met with, well, hostility. This prototype was the only one who could walk openly into most settlements without so much as a second glance.

In a way, it was promising. _There was some hope for their reputation in the Commonwealth after all._

Surprisingly, only two people were posted as a means of a guard detail as they arrived.

“Only two?” Danse asked under his breath.

Brotherhood soldiers were not to be taken lightly.

A glowing yellow gaze cast a sidelong glance at the former Paladin.

“After what your… those people did, it was a better idea to post less people down here. Just in case anybody got trigger happy and decided to dispatch the survivors in payback. Not everyone agreed with taking them alive,” Nick responded carefully.

It was a valid concern. _Perhaps Hancock wasn’t as foolishly arrogant as Danse had initially thought._

“Daisy, lovely as ever. Would you be so kind as to open the door for us?” Nick said, tipping the brim of his hat in cordial manners.

It appeared to be the entrance to an old storage room. For what? It was hard to say. The walls appeared to be mostly stonework and concrete. The door a thick, steel latched contraption that even managed to just look heavy. Massive hinges affixed it to the wall. A circular latch sat at the door center like a large mechanical doorknob. Yet, there were still locks upon the door nearest the frame as well.

It would be a formidable place to attempt an escape from.

“Not a problem, sugar,” the female ghoul stood up from her post on an old wooden crate. An assault rifle hung from one shoulder. Dark eyes scanned the new arrival up and down while careful hands picked free the keys with a jingling sound. “Who is the new guy?”

“Someone who might be able to give us a hand out of this mess,” Nick answered with a confident nod.

“Really?” Daisy seemed to double-check her first impression. After a moment, she shrugged and turned to work on the latches. “Well, we need all the help we can get. Otherwise it won’t be long until Good Neighbor is nothing but a pile of rubble like the rest of the city.”

They were right to be worried.

“May I?” Nick stepped up, grasping the heavy door latch and opening it without so much as a struggle. For a synth, he was fairly average in strength. But when compared to most humans, Nick was far more capable.

“Thank you, Daisy,” the former Paladin finally offered, brown eyes glancing over slightly as the door swung open. Beyond was only black.

“What did you say your name was?” Daisy’s tone was friendly enough. A merchant by trade, she had a good eye for remembering faces if she had a name to put to it. Such a tactic came in useful for bartering at times and keeping up repeat customers. Here, and now, it was more a curiosity than anything.

“Michael,” Danse answered without hesitation, keeping to himself the more familiar name by which he might have been known. “My name is Michael.”

“Well, Michael… If you can help out our little side of the Commonwealth, I know the people here would be mighty appreciative,” the female ghoul was pleasant.

Danse nodded. “I’ll do my best, ma’am,” he responded politely.

“After you,” gestured Nick with an outstretched mechanical hand.

With that, both men stepped into the black.


	29. The Shift

It wasn’t entirely dark in the storage room once a person stepped inside. It was surprisingly vast. Shelves had long ago been emptied of their provisions. Dusty boxes and crates littered the walls. Some were broken and cast aside in a heap. Others were stacked neatly in multi-colored piles. A small bulb illuminated dutifully off to the side as it hung from a simple cord in the ceiling. Occasionally it would flicker. It banished just enough of the dark to make sense of the room. Dust could be seen floating in the immediate vacinity of the lightbulb. It was musty below ground, although not entirely unpleasant. No rot. No feral ghouls. It wasn't terrible by any means.

By the looks of it, seven of the Brotherhood soldiers had been apprehended. It was easy to count as the two synths drew closer. The soldiers had been lined up against the wall and chained to one another with hands bound behind their backs. It was a foolish thought to consider escaping, seeing as they were all chained together as one. Perhaps not impossible, but certainly not feasible. Nor advisable. None appeared to be working at their bounds or struggling against the retraints. All were sitting quite still even with only the low guard placed on them. It was difficult to see at first, but the bounds that held them were both of chain, and strings of razor wire. Any struggle would have been instantly regretable.

“Is… is that really you…? Paladin Danse?”

_Knight Smith._

A familiar face in the ambient light. An older Knight. Grey raked through his short and well-trimmed beard. The top of his head was entirely smooth by contrast. Rugged features told the history of long hours spent on the road. Miles and weeks walked in the name of the Brotherhood. Any who had seen as much battle over the years would bear the similar story of exhaustion on their features.

All eyes seemed to rouse in the dim light at the interruption. A few legs were shifted as members of the regiment sat up more attentively with the arrival of visitors.

“Smith,” Danse said evenly, taking an exaggerated look down the line. It was a bittersweet reunion for him. To both see his comrades, to see them relatively unharmed, and have the tension of the recent past between them.

"What..." the Knight looked from Danse to Nick Valentine. Features worked slightly as mind attempted to piece together the scene before him. He shook his head slightly. It was apparent they'd had little sleep. "What are you doing here, sir?"

"I could ask you all the same question," the former Paladin responded in an even tone, although his expression betrayed a look of disapproval. "I came here in search of intel. It seems I lucked out in finding it." Michael fixed his attention on Knight Smith, "So... what happened here?"

“Mission detail was to locate and secure viable resources throughout the immediate Commonwealth area,” the Knight responded in a military fashion without hesitation. Faces along the line roused to full attention as the conversation took place. A few of the other Knights exchanged a few words. Someone grunted as they were elbowed with a hush. It was clear that uncertainty plagued the group. Their possible saviour in this was also traitor who had been pronouced dead. It was a lot to take in.

“Our assignment was to investigate this region with highlight on the capture and occupation of a settlement known as Good Neighbor. Probable resources included ammunition, food stores, weaponry and some forms of tech. The team lead in was more than capable, but intel was insufficient to disclose all defensive measures once within the walls. Those of us in power armor were incapacitated by an unidentified form of weapon. Others were hard-pressed to dispatch all hostiles, given the tight quarters and hidden routes. We were forced into a bottleneck and overpowered. Seven of us were captured. A handful were killed from what I witnessed. Afterwards, we were shuffled down here and locked away.”

Muscles in the Paladin’s jaw flexed slightly.

“Were other mission operatives designated to secure additional resources throughout the region?”

Knight Smith gave a single nod, “Yes, sir. Ours was one of just over a half dozen teams given orders to secure targets of interest and reduce any threats therein.”

_So, it was more than a few chosen teams._

Danse mulled the information over for a few moments. Measured it against information they already knew, and tactics he had experienced in the past for similar recon missions. However, those missions of the past had always included securing either raider bases or vast Super mutant hideouts. Never settlements. It irked him more than he would let on at the information.

“How do you feel about that?”

The words were simple enough. A simple concept to understand.

“Pardon me, sir?” Knight Smith seemed unsure.

Danse understood the apprehension. He had been in their shoes before. Understood the mindset a person takes on in order to follow orders to the fullest and without question. It had been his life for the greater part of his memories, what of them were real anyway. Orders were given and orders were obeyed. They were not tactically trained to measure out the moral ambiguity of situations in the face of battle. It was why the roles of leadership bore such a hefty burden. The responsibility to make the moral choices for the benefit of all. There was always risk. Yet, this? This was… Harmful to their cause more so than it benefitted it.

He crouched low to more easily address the man tied up and bound on the floor, sitting back on his heels with elbows on his knees.

“Is this what you signed up for, soldier?”

A pause. A hesitation.

It was easy to see the thoughts churning in the older veteran’s mind as eyes stared evenly at his former officer. No doubt calculating the options, the words. Perhaps even measuring how he might respond. Maybe even wondering if he should, given the deflecting status of the former Paladin and his distance from the Brotherhood. A synth with yellow eyes had walked in with him. Perhaps the rumors were true? Then again, their senior officer had been declared dead, and now stood before them. Never had they quite faced a circumstance like this.

_Could they still trust him?_

It was insubordination to question orders. A fact that was drilled into them from day one.

After a long moment, the answer was simple.

“No, sir,” Smith said, eyes narrowing defensively. A yao guai backed into the corner. It was clear that the Knight did not enjoy being baited with questions.

“A week ago, the team lead by Knight Rhys attacked a non-hostile settlement,” Danse spoke as he looked down the line at the faces in front of him. “I know, because I was there. Since when do soldiers attack non-hostile settlements?”

There was uncomfortable shuffling in the group. A few eyes looked away slightly. Others met his steadily. Remarkably, no one glared at him with open disdain. The expressions were familiar. A gaze that asked for silent direction. Help. Orders. It was what they thrived on. Survived on. Skillful leadership. And that leadership of theirs was currently falling into question.

“I signed up with the Brotherhood to protect civilians, not kill them for their food stores,” Danse’s tone darkened slightly with a sharp edge to his words.

“What really happened, sir?” a young soldier further down the line leaned forward from where he was seated. The soldier beside him drew a sharp breath as the razor wire bit slightly. The younger man uttered a quick apology.

They needed to know.

There were no lies within the Brotherhood. Save for the ones spread recently, it would seem.

Even if Elder Maxson had banished him, he could not deny the emotional ties that had grown between him and the people he still knew within the ranks.

No lies amongst family.

_So be it._

“After tactical recon from Knight Reed into the Institute as per Elder Maxson's orders using a constructed molecular relay, documentation was discovered and decrypted that indicated the likely probability of me being a synth through DNA identification,” he spoke steadily with a neutral tone, as one might present a report to a group. “The dates on the documentation indicated a great length of time since the last recorded update within the Institute data log. A large number of years, in fact. Upon learning this, Elder Maxson ordered my execution and entitled this duty to Knight Reed.

“Assuming this, I fell back to verify the truth of those allegations. Based on enemy intel, the data was correct. I was a synth as far as could be determined. It seems, although memory of such events no longer exist in my head as far as I know, that I was an escaped Gen3 synth. I had no idea. No memories of the Institute. I could only recall what appeared to be a regular life. Yet, that was not the reality of it all. Not according to records. As such, I accepted my fate and met with Reed to give myself up. Orders were orders.”

Most were looking at him now, expressions more difficult to read that before. Troubled. Dark looks. Even disbelief.

Danse ran a hand back through his hair as if thinking of what to say next. After a moment, he shrugged.

“Knight Reed negotiated the matter of my termination with Elder Maxson so as to take into consideration the years of service and efforts made fighting alongside the Brotherhood. After all, I had no idea I was a synth. I bleed. I feel pain. I had no idea I was any different than my comrades. I was given leave to keep my life, so long as no efforts were made to interfere with the activities of the Brotherhood henceforth. So long as I was reported as destroyed, and made no further attempt to be involved with or interfere with the Brotherhood, I would be allowed to keep my life.”

It felt easier to talk about now. The emotional wounds were not so fresh nor as raw as before. It wasn't easy, but it was easier than it may have been in the past.

“But… you did get involved after that, sir. At the Institute,” a voice chimed up. “You were there.”

A few eyes glanced at the younger soldier and then back.

“He was at the Institute?” a voice asked from further down the line.

“I was,” Danse nodded in confirmation. “That was a matter of extenuating circumstances. Had I the choice, I would have left and done my best to make a life for myself out on the wasteland without ever becoming involved in the Brotherhood's activities. However, it wasn’t how events unfolded. There was still the matter of the Institute to deal with. A very real threat to many. The arrival of the Brotherhood during that raid was, frankly, just a matter of timing rather than intentional involvement. I might not have been a Paladin then by title, but I wasn’t about to sit idly by while that battle was fought against such an oppressive enemy.”

"If you're a synth, why did you fight against the Institute?" Knight Smith asked with an edge.

The former paladin fixed his long-time friend with a steady gaze. "Just because they made me did not mean I was suddenly on their side, Smith," his tone was cutting. "Historical accounts of my past never changed the fact that my alliance remained always with the Brotherhood. I never sympathized with the Institute, before or after finding out about my past."

"It wasn't just you at the Institute, sir," the young soldier piped up. His blonde hair was still matted from when he had been donning his power helmet.

“Former Paladin Reed as well,” an older man nodded in agreement. “She… well… she helped us escape when the relay was deactivated and we had no way out.”

It still troubled him to think of what might have happened had he not be there. What might have befallen his female companion at the hands of Rhys.

He pushed the thought from his mind and refocused on the task of now.

"Was Reed labeled as a deserter as well?" Danse ventured to ask.

A few heads nodded slightly.

The picture was becoming clearer now, at least. Perhaps they might begin to understand the challenges their two former officers had faced. There had been gossip, of course. Hushed whispers. Discussions in secret about what had really happened within the Institute as well as before. About who had been there. Reports had glossed over many of the details. Rumors carried more truth, although riddled with exaggerations. It was hard to know what to believe. There was little wonder why the soldiers were apprehensive about who to trust anymore.

“You’re healed now, sir?” the blonde haired Knight seemed curious.

Silent questioning eyes glanced towards him as attention once more settled on the former officer.

He nodded slightly, “Better now.”

More than a handful of the gazes were curious.

"What happened?" a voice in the line asked.

The blonde haired Knight exchanged a look with the older gentleman before glancing down the line. "He appeared grievously wounded last we saw," he said in a low tone, as if being quiet would somehow have been viewed as more respectful.

It was strange to think about. It hadn't been all that long ago that he had still been spending much of his days resting. It had taken a great deal of time to recuperate from the wounds. Realizing the eyes were upon him, Danse was familiar with the unwritten protocol for discussing battle scars. Orange fatigues were still tied around his waist, a simple shirt on his torso. He found the bottom hem of his shirt and hoisted it upwards to reveal the knit skin and marring that was the majority of his right side. It stretched nearly from armpit to just a few inches above the hip, vast enough to wrap to the front and back in some sections. Some of the flesh was still brightly pink as it continued to mend even after another round of Stimpaks. The flesh was pulled together at points where there once had been stitches. A criss-cross pattern of scar tissue peppered the large surface area of the former wound. A hollow was still featured where one of the lower ribs was missing.

No one really spoke.

Not many could boast such scars. Few would have survived such an ordeal. They’d all seen enough in the field. They understood. If it inspired or unnerved them, it was impossible to say.

Danse still considered himself lucky to have survived it with only scars and some nerve damage to the skin.

“What happens now, sir?” Knight Smith pressed lightly.

He let the shirt fall back into place. Clasping his hands together in front of himself, he delved more deeply into thought. Tactical options. Considerations. It went beyond these seven soldiers. Knight Rhys had said as much in their conversation about multiple groups being involved in this. The rumors through the ranks. An unsettled discomfort that came with the orders to obtain resources through such violent means against civilians.

A dark look passed the former Paladin’s features as he allowed his mind to wander to a less pleasant place. A place he did not relish going. To picture those he had come to know in these settlements falling before the Brotherhood soldiers. Civilians. Some were able-bodied. Others were not. Who had they killed here? Who had fallen in the other settlements? The Sunshine co-op boasted a wide range of people within its walls. To imagine them laying in a pool of their own blood, cut down by the accuracy of the invading soldiers…

The entire situation was uncomfortable to consider. Yet, presented before him was the stark reality of the scenario they found themselves to be in. Questionable orders. Underhanded dealings. Attacking citizens and raiding for resources.

It was not the Brotherhood way.

“We knew you weren’t dead, sir,” Knight Jax spoke up from her spot upon the floor. “Not all of us agreed with what happened. We… had hoped you had somehow managed to escape.”

Danse was taken slightly aback by the remark. Brows furrowed slightly in disbelief, “Really?”

More than a few heads nodded in agreement.

The idea had always been that he was alone in all of this. It had seemed foolish to wonder what the others might have thought of him after his unintentional betrayal.

 “We recognized that the Institute was a threat, but all you ever did was for the glory of the Brotherhood,” she elaborated, short brown hair in a state of chaos after her helmet had been forcefully removed after the attack. “It didn’t make sense. You never betrayed us. And even after being banished, you and Paladin Reed didn’t leave our soldiers behind. Risked your own lives to get us an extraction. Something even our Elder was unable to resolve. I have never questioned an order from you, sir.”

A few voices echoed hers, offering up their quiet agreement.

“We shouldn’t be ransacking villages, sir,” Smith said, slightly more feeling to his words than before. “We should be dealing with the Super mutants and clearing out feral ghouls from the tunnels and city centre. We should be supporting civilians, not fighting them over meager provisions.”

"I couldn't agree more," said Danse.

A dark brown gaze swept the line of faces displayed before him.

“Do you all feel this way?”

All were in agreement, nodding with unwavering expressions or uttering ‘Yes, sir’ in the quiet of the dark space.

A dark mood settled over the former Paladin at the tactical options, viewing them at the forefront of his mind without joy or excitement.

_So be it._

He had always promised to do what was right to protect the Brotherhood at all costs.

Even with his life.

Even if that meant saving it from itself.

“I need to speak to Arthur,” he said out loud.

Several looks were exchanged amongst one another.

“You have our support, Paladin, sir,” Knight Smith responded.

If he was moved by the exchange, Danse hid it behind a steely expression.

* * *

“That’s your plan…?”

Hancock wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to thank the former soldier for wasting his time. Yet, no one else laughed. No one else shared a comical approach to what had just been proposed.

_Shit._

He scratched his head slightly, knocking his tripoint hat slightly askew.

“You’re serious?”

“Affirmative,” the stony man spoke with a brooding tone.

“Fuck _me_ ,” the ghoul mayor muttered under his breath. A casual hand straightened the hat on his head, dusted off the velvet of his garments and pushed himself to his feet. He gestured in the open air in a dismissive way. “Fine, fine. Whatever,” his voice sounded as if it was being dragged across gravel. “Take them. They’re more trouble here than they’re worth. It was a spur of the moment decision anyway. Maybe some good can come of it. They were starting to stink up the place anyway.”

A weight of relief came off Danse’s shoulders.

“Hancock,” Reed spoke up, “are you sure you want to try to hold out here in the meantime?”

The ghoul’s smile that flashed in the vault dwellers direction was of a quality that somehow sat poorly with the former male Paladin. It stirred a defensive edge. Protective. Jealousy, perhaps. As foolish as it may have been.

“Nah, doll,” Hancock said with an air of confidence. “Ain’t no better place in the Commonwealth for me to be. If it comes down to it, we’ll do what we can. Survive, if at all possible. Or take as many as them with us if the odds end up being, well, not in our favor.”

“I’m going to stay here at Good Neighbor,” Nick threw into the mix.

Both Danse and Reed glanced at the mechanical man with a hint of surprise. It was not what they had been expecting.

“I’ll help you get the Brotherhood troops out of town, but I’ll hang around for a bit,” he said with a shrug. “After what happened last time, they might need all the help they can get. Diamond City is all locked up and not likely to let anyone in, or out, anytime soon. It makes sense to throw my caps in with these fellows for a bit. See if I can’t make myself useful in all of this.”

Hancock huffed a brisk laugh before clapping the mechanical man on the shoulder. “I knew I liked you for a reason, Nick. We’d be glad to have ya.”

“Yeah, well, it might not change much… but I’ll do my best,” Nick straightened his duster slightly. His automatic pistol was holstered at the ready to the side of his hip. Not many were faster on the draw than the detective. Not many were more accurate either. “Come on. Let’s get your crew out of that store room and figure out some details.”

“I’ll go see if KL-E-O has fixed up your power armor yet. If not, we might have to commandeer a suit from one of your wall patrols,” Reed said with a sidelong glance at Hancock.

The Mayor rolled his solid black eyes in an overly dramatic fashion, "You're breaking my balls here, toots. Fine, fine. Take what you need. Just get the hell out of my town with all your Brotherhood bullshit. I'm tired of hearing about it."

Gladen smirked and shook her head. Yet, she was thankful he was still being accomodating, considering he had no reason to be helping the Brotherhood other than to save his own hide in the end. It was a hell of a risk.

As Nick and Reed shuffled down the stairs of the Old State House, the ghoulish mayor took the only opportunity he might get.

“No hard feelings about earlier,” Hancock tried to catch the former Paladin’s attention. It worked. Danse paused his departure, casting a quick hardened glance over his shoulder. “It wouldn’t have sat well to have the former second in command of the Brotherhood just waltz into the place with a bunch of trigger-happy wall guards, you know? It wasn’t personal. Hell, maybe it kept your head on your shoulders. Either way, it was only business.”

Michael mulled the words over for a moment as if he was measuring the quality of their tone. It hadn’t been all that long ago that ghouls were seen as only something that was a threat to the Commonwealth in even his own eyes. Yet, that view had been drastically turned on its head after a time. Part of that was thanks to the unique woman he traveled with. Part of that was due to his own circumstances at being labeled a traitor for no other reason than where he came from. Perhaps they had more in common than they realized. After a few moments, the veteran gave a nod.

“I understand,” he said genuinely. Brown gaze settled on the jet-black marbles that were Hancock’s eyes. “Had I been in your shoes, I likely would have done the same to protect my people too.”

That much was true. He would have been hesitant to allow any former enemy behind protected lines without a distinct advantage over them. It made the most logical sense.

“I appreciate that,” Hancock said, almost relieved. He drew a breath and spoke before he had a chance to think better of it. _Life was for the bold._ “Take care of Reed out there in all this. She ain’t going to be safer behind these walls with me, but where you’re going… well… a lot of things could go wrong when you least expect it.”

Danse initially might have bristled at the suggestion. It would have been easy to take it the wrong way, to spit back that he had no intention of doing anything but that. Instead, he was remarkably calm.

“Were you... interested in her?” was all Danse asked. It was an unnerving calm that settled in his voice as he stopped at the doorway.

"With an ass like that, who wouldn't be? But that's beside the point here, Danse. Naw, man,” Hancock said with a shake of his head. He smiled a stiff smile. “A girl like that is too smart to go for a ghoul like me. I had my chance at a normal life, and threw it away to end up like this. That’s why it’s gotta be you,” he said meaningfully. "Ain't nobody else who can fill that role."

As the words hung, he was quick to put back on the veneer of his familiar mayoral persona. He straightened his hat, straightened his velvet jacket and pointed at the Brotherhood officer with a scarred index finger.

“So don’t fuck it up.”


	30. Return to Base

The T-60 had been successfully repaired, with a bit of luck and some parts to harvest for materials. They would need to do a full check at a later time, but for the moment, the core still worked and the only thing on the fritz was the HUD. A small matter as long as the rest functioned.

It was an interesting plan that they had been fleshing out, although it left a pit of nerves in her stomach at the possibilities that lay before them. It would be taking an insane amount of risk, but what choice did they have? Their options were few and the outcome of failure was even less pleasant to consider. No matter how things played out, there was at least cause to try.

Nick and Danse had made short work of freeing the prisoners. A good thing too. Already rumblings of discourse rippled through the few present residents of Good Neighbor. Not all seemed to share the same opinion as their mayor. It would be best to be out of here, and soon.

Reed bid a quick thanks to KL-E-O for her repairs on the power armor. A mental note was made to compensate the Assaultron in full when she had the caps. If there was one anatomic being not to trifle with, it was the one with the sassy attitude and ‘take-on-the-world’ mentality. To do otherwise was the risk ones personal health at a later time, or so the rumors held true.

As a group, the former prisoners of war crossed the courtyard. The former female Paladin moved to join them.

 _Seven._ A small but moderate number, considering. It could have been less than that. Relief came as the familiar faces were made known to recollection. People she knew within the ranks, or had seen working alongside other officers in the fold. Perhaps a part of her had indeed missed their company to a degree. No, she had missed them. It was simply hard to explain why. There were too many emotions running high to really analyze it at the moment. Still, there was relief to see them alive.

A brief glance was made down at herself before Reed mentally shrugged.

There were more important matters to attend to. Seeing as Danse was technically ‘dead’ to the Brotherhood and she was a deserter, there was little sense in hiding other matters now. 

It was hard to say what the thoughts might be from those they had once worked alongside. Would they forgive her AWOL status or hold it against her? Would they once more turn to Danse, or turn shoulder to one that was now dead to them? An enemy to the cause?

Still, there was some level of rank that appeared to be holding even now amongst the group. Eyes turned to Danse more so than they turned away. He really was a Paladin through and through, as had been proven time and time again over the years. There was reason to trust him, even if orders said otherwise. Though she had held the title of Paladin for a time, it had been politically received rather than dutifully earned. It was her companion who boasted, perhaps even demanded, a higher level of respect. To her mind, he was still Paladin Danse. Perhaps it was the case with the others as well. 

He fell comfortably back into the role of leadership. It was easy to see. The posture. The way his words contained just the right notes and phrases to instil purpose within the others. A life he had lived, breathed and existed in as far as he could recall. When matters were at their darkest, it was when the veteran proved his merit.

There was little wonder why his ‘death’ had somehow been seen as more tragic than most. Even labeled as a traitor, he had been mourned in secret.

Perhaps it was why they turned to him so eagerly now. There was no distain on their faces. If anything, there was a small amount of hope there.

He caught her gaze with a brief glance. Both shared a look for a moment. A deeper understanding. Unspoken words of a mutual connection.

He had a purpose again. In his element. It was familiar in a way nothing else in life was.

“It won’t be easy, sir,” Knight Smith was saying, drawing the attention of the group.

Danse’s expression darkened noticeably.

“Nothing worth doing is ever easy,” he said heavily, shouldering the weight of responsibility in all of this.

There were similar accounts in the Brotherhood’s history. Accounts of soldiers questioning the orders of their elder at the time. Elder Lyons had suffered such a fate in the historical documentation before his passing. A diversion of focus that left a rift through the ranks. A rift that inevitably caused a portion of the Brotherhood’s respected followers to break off out of sheer disagreement. He’d read the records of it during his beginning years within the fold. Surely there were many details left from the texts as to what precisely occurred. Yet, the fact remained; Leadership could only be maintained when all of those following orders believed in what they were doing for a cause.

“Will we be getting our Power armor returned to us?” one of the recruits asked. A blonde haired fellow that Reed was hard-pressed to recall a name for.

“Negative,” she chimed in as she took position amongst the ranks.

Smith. Jax. Reco. James. Their surprised expressions were heartwarming.

No animosity was there.

Two of those standing within the circle had dragged her form from the rubble of a collapsed building during one of her first assignments as Paladin. Comrades through and through.

She was glad they were alright.

_Perhaps they had a chance for this plan to work after all._

She smiled. “You didn’t think I’d miss out on this kind of mission, did you?”

A brow was lifted jestfully as she tried to soften the edge of the somber mood. It wasn’t unusual to cope through stress with humor. A tool of survival. A way of not letting the darkness of the world inside completely.

“Paladin Reed… It’s good to see you again, ma’am,” Knight Jax spoke up from the ranks, smiling at the other female.

Jax seemed more astute that the others, but there would be time to talk later.

“Part of the condition of your release was to forfeit the resources you brought with you, including weapons,” former Paladin Reed elaborated, although managed to convey an apologetic tone. With a slight edge, she remarked, “The mayor of Good Neighbor didn’t take too kindly to what happened here, and is only releasing you as a means to benefit him in the end. If anyone has a problem with him retaining your equipment, you’re welcome to try and take it up with him.”

No one seemed eager to attempt that level of negotiation.

“It’s good to see you all alive,” she replied while looking over the surviving seven. “You were lucky.”

A few expressions hardened along the line at the reminder. _It was true._ Some of the brothers and sisters they had fought alongside had failed to survive the resistance of the small town. Killed in the line of duty under questionable orders. There was no glory in a death against civilians. Dark times. Dark thoughts. Knight James absentmindedly rubbed at the contusion to his wrists where they had been bound roughly by razor wire. All possessed similar wounds from their trials after capture. Reco flaunted a black eye and swollen cheek to boot. Yet, they were alive, and that was a small victory of itself. Others had not been so lucky.

“They’ve all agreed,” Danse began, “that this is not the direction they wish the Brotherhood to take in matters of operating within the Commonwealth. Following orders is one thing, but the sudden focus on settlement acquisition has sent questioning ripples through the ranks. We already know of a few accounts of this. Now an entirely separate group confirms the same. I’m inclined to believe what they say is true as a whole. That this unreset is Brotherhood wide.”

Years had been spent working alongside these soldiers. Both in battle and when the world was quiet. Waking up and breaking fast with them as shifts were changed for the watch. Of patching up brethren when their luck fell ill. Of standing back to back in the face of sheer opposition. Trusting ones comrade to defend them to the death if need be, and to be expected to do the same for others. If anyone were able to perceive the true depth of disquiet amongst the ranks, it was the war-seasoned veteran they had come to know. 

"Then we proceed as planned?" Reed confirmed.

Her companion nodded once before turning back to the group.

“Jax,” Danse addressed, drawing the female Knight to attention.

“Yes, sir?”

“Take your group of four and return back to base,” his tone was authoritative, familiar. Every soldier drew to attention, anxiety and the lost expressions replaced with a sense of direction. Orders. Duties. A plan in the chaos. “I need you to confirm word with others about where they stand in their feelings on this matter. If there is such disquiet as rumors have led to believe, then this can be done with the least resistance.

“Smith, you’ll be with me. Also, James and Kepp,” he looked at the respective soldiers. “Until word is received from base, we do not proceed. We wait for intel.”

They all nodded with a single quick drop of the chin in agreement and understanding.

“I have obtained pipe pistols for some level of protection to make it back to base,” Reed added, following with her own authoritative tone as she stood with hands on her hips. If it drew attention to her belly, she failed to give it much consideration. “They won’t believe you escaped on your own without some means to do so. It won't be much, but it will have some ammunition. So don't go emptying your clip unless you need to.”

Danse glanced at Gladen with approval. It was a clever detail. There were times he was indeed fortunate to have her along despite the risks.

He regarded the soldiers lined up before him with scrutiny.

There was no way of knowing if this would work. It was a great risk, and one that was worth taking.

At least, for him, the risk was worth it.

These were his people in a sense. The Institute had created him, yes. But, it was the Brotherhood that had forged him into who he was today. Of that there was no denying it. Synth or not, these people were still his family. There was no doubt that he would do whatever it took to keep them safe.

A dark look flashed over his features. Struck his mood into darker places.

The idea of Reed joining them in this venture chilled him to the core, even if he wasn't about to admit it openly in front of the others. If matters went well, there would be less danger. If matters went poorly, or they had miscalculated the intel… He regarded her in his peripherals. A form he had practically memorized. It had changed little since that day in the police station, save for a few traits. Still striking as ever. Only now, there was much more to consider going forward.

There was more to think about than simply his safety alone.

He needed matters to go well in all of this.

The tone that left his lips somehow managed to express the weight of it all as it rolled methodically through his mind:

“Let’s move out.”

* * *

 

A watch was posted for the evening.

James and former Paladin Danse sat nearest a broken window as first watch. They spoke in low tones on a subject unknown. Quiet talk in the dusk. Fleshing out plan details. Discussing events that had happened in recent memory. It was hard to tell. Either way, the mood was thoughtful.

Kepp was sleeping with chin to his chest, arms folded.

Smith and Reed finished some meager provisions to stave off the slight rumbling of their stomachs. James and Danse had declined rations for the moment. Kepp had fallen asleep before the offer was made, so they had set a portion aside for when he woke. 

Silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was an easy silence. Chit-chat was shallow in the world now. When faced with the odds of death day in and day out, menial discussions somehow lost their appeal. Words shared at the end of the day were meaningful, or not shared at all.

A flick of golden light flared briefly nearest the open window with the familiar smell of a burning match and phosphorous. It illuminated the two guarding figures in a warm red hue before disappearing within the rolled parchment of a cigarette. Recent memory couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen him take to them, but after today’s events, it was far more than understandable. Two red dots glowed in the distance, smoke trailing into the air between them as the soldiers continued their talk and gesture slightly.

“How long have you and Paladin Danse been together?” Smith looked up from his meal and drawing the attention of the female soldier. A wince touched his features slightly and he waved with a bent utensil. “I meant to say traveling together… ah, you know what I’m trying to say.”

Smith was one of the older of the Knights that Reed had come to know and work alongside. Older than even Danse. A veteran just the same. Battle hardened. Field tested. Surely recruits still told stories that carried his name in a heroic manner. Tales of glory. For the good of the Commonwealth. In the name of the Brotherhood of Steel. Just the same as their former Paladin, he, too, had been crafted by this life. Forged by its trials and hardships.

“We parted ways shortly after I was ordered to kill him,” she managed to respond evenly. It must have been apparent that there was something more between the two by now, and thus, no sense discussing it now. Instead, she focused on the intel side of matters. Reed explained a little bit about what had occurred that day, keeping certain details vague or unmentioned. 

It was clear in her mind, that day. Being called before the Elder. Being tasked with hunting down a synth that was both her mentor, her lover and her companion. Of challenging the reality of his identity as a synth. In her mind, it could not be true. Of nearly drawing the pistol within her holster to settle aim at the very person ruining his name and giving those very orders to kill him. It was frightening how truly close she had been to stroking that trigger as anguish twisted within her that day. A barely contained rage. It came back with stunning clarity.

“After finding him, I couldn’t follow through with orders,” she explained, looking up to regard the other more senior officer. “We parted ways for a little over a month before crossing paths once more. We've been traveling together ever since.”

It was easier to talk about now with the passage of time. Still, Reed realized she was holding the tin of preserved meat perhaps a bit too tightly and forced her hand to relax.

Knight Smith respectfully pretended not to notice the white-knuckled grip.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

Gladen inclined her head slightly, expression confused.

“… for not following through with orders,” he elaborated with a sense of tension.

Many of them would have done what was ordered. Followed through with the command given by their Elder. Orders were orders. 

A chill rippled up her spine at the reconsideration what would have unfolded if another had been set to the task.

Lips tightened slightly at the idea.

“We’ll look out for Danse,” he said, giving her hand a quick pat. Perhaps the most affection the older officer could muster after all those years. The callouses on his hand were weathered even more so than their former commander. “And for you. We look after our own," his tone was serious.

With that, Knight Smith made no further attempt at conversation.

Dutifully he returned to his post and settled about busying himself accordingly. A weapons check of the pipe rifle they’d managed to obtain for him. Rudamentary. Not pretty. Heavy. But, effective. In the end, that was all anyone truly needed. A Knight always took care of their gear, whatever shape or form it came to them in.

Reed finished her meal in silence, regarding her own equipment.

Limbs were tired and legs sore from their pressed venture to get to Good Neighbor with such speed. In the end, it had proven to be the right choice. Still, it was difficult to feel well rested these days. Everything felt as if it sapped her energy more than before. The idea of doing a weapons check was automatic to her mind, but somehow the urge to follow through just wasn’t there.

Green eyes came up and found their way to the gaze she felt watching her. 

There were times Gladen wondered if her companion was somehow able to pick up on her thoughts, the way he had such a sixth sense for goings on around him.

Indeed, Danse had been regarding her from his vantage. James was still talking, the former Paladin paying attention to both matters at once. He tilted his head slightly. A nod to go rest. Relief from her post. An unspoken dismissal from duties for now.

A sigh fell from her lips. A thankful expression at permission to get some much needed sleep from the past few days. 

Somehow, the rubble didn’t seem so uncomfortable. The Vault dweller’s power armor stood nearby like a familiar sentinel.

It was quiet and felt secure within the half-fallen building.

Sleep snuck up aster than she imagined. 

They would be on mission soon. It would serve well to get what sleep could be had in the meantime.

Danse stayed on watch throughout the evening.

It was impossible to sleep for him, he knew.

There was much on his mind.

The male synth listened to the sounds of the Wasteland and brooded with only the company of his tobacco. He took another slow drag, smoke curling.

There was no telling what the future would bring anymore. Only a guess. Perhaps some level of hope. But, nothing was entirely certain anymore.

He exhaled heavily and watched as the Eastern sky began to lighten.

Things would either work out for the best, or for the worst.

The only way of knowing would be to jump directly into the fray, which is exactly what he was hoping to do.

* * *

Erie was the quiet that enveloped them.

Everything about their approach was odd.

The hum of life had left the airport.

Normally riddled with the sound of practice rounds from the recruits or a vertibird’s engines howling to lift. T-60s manning the steel grated walkways and lookouts with miniguns at the ready. Crates being loaded, moved and occasionally dropped. Footsteps. Voices. All of it mixed together into a familiar roar that was a strange kind of home.

Yet, everything was silent now.

There was no yelling. There were no orders.

It was quiet.

It felt wrong.

There stood the gates open to their approach.

James walked with Danse at the lead.

Smith, Kepp and Reed brought up the rear.

A warm wind whistled gently through the open doorways and along the barricades, a sound often lost to the din of life here in this hectic base.

Apparently, it had all happened quickly.

News of the return of prisoners of war, having escaped from Good Neighbor after a loss and imprisonment.

Rumors had spread like a wildfire to the dry underbrush of the Wasteland’s hills. Fueled by disquiet and unrest like a fan to flame. Soldiers eager to grasp at news and change. At first it was hushed whispers. Those whispers began to settle into idle talk in the open. Open resentment. More than a handful of those bold enough to step forward and speak their mind. Tension within the fold. A decision to make a stand. To throw their caps in with who they may. A few fistfuls and arguments. Speculation. It was reaching a climax and there needed to be a resolution soon. 

Jax had given them notice to approach.

Disquiet had turned to disbelief. Of those standing at the gate to look on, they either did so out of spite or did so out of hope. It mattered little. So long as none was armed against them, there was a chance to spark change. 

As he entered the gates, a hand reached up and released the coupler of his battle-worn helmet. It hissed audibly. A click as a servo released. With a quarter turn, it was free. Danse lifted the obscuring protective gear to look at the gathering, stopping before them. An imposing figure. Familiar. None bore the T-60 unit quite like him. Many, if not all, who stood within the ranks could recognize the features. 

If he was moved by those around him, it was hidden behind the steel-hewn expression.

Hushed voices and murmurs rippled through the press of bodies.

_Good, let them decide for themselves what to believe._

A group thought lost to the Institute had returned from death with the words of their former officer on their lips. It had quickly been snuffed into silence, a name not to be spoken again. It had created stirrings then.

To stand before them now, it left little to question; Danse had not be assassinated as previously reported.

A familiar dark gaze took in the looks from those around him.

It was impossible to know what they were all thinking. Yet, they all seemed unsure in their own way.

A future of uncertainty was a difficult thing for soldiers to fight for. They all felt it, the unrest. 

“I’ve come to speak to Elder Maxson,” he said, verifying once and for all the truth of his existence now. There was no denying the voice that addressed them now. Authoritative tone unforgettable to those who had served beneath it. “Where is he?” his tone was straightforward.

“Aboard the Prydwen,” Proctor Ingram came forward.

He was glad to see her.

_There was some hope yet._

Brows lowered heavily as he cast a look upward to the vast airship above.

“Get me a vertibird.”

No one questioned the order.


	31. Conflict

A metallic ringing interupted the air with a surprisingly tuneful note. It might have even been considered musical, had the ringing not meant his forehead had come to violently connect with the railing.

_Fuck._

_That hurt._

He groaned and tried to force the horizon to come into focus.

This tactical approach wasn't working as well as he had hoped.

Warmth trickled down sweat-beaded flesh. A small river of red liquid that seeped unabashedly from an open wound. Such a wound went unnoticed, for the chaos around demanded the entirety of his focus.

The intention had been to talk. To discuss matters in a civil way. Perhaps that ideal had been but a foolish notion. A hope that cooler minds could prevail over the emotions running high in all of this. It was naive, in a way. Cursed by the years spent together as brothers, it had pushed him to give the Elder the benefit of the doubt. To insist that this could all be worked out. They could fix this. All of this. They just needed to talk. A chance to explain. A chance to willingly discuss their conflict and resolve it amicably.

Events, as it seemed, were not to play out as planned.

Things had progressed, evolved, into exchanges of blows rather than exchanges of words.

He saw it coming this time despite the daze. Reflexes and muscle memory saved him from another ringing blow. It fell just shy of where he had been as Danse rolled away from the downward fist. A new ringing tune erupted, announcing that it was bloodied knuckles of his eager opponent that had connected this time.

A curse broke the air.

The former Paladin spit the taste of blood from his lips.

It hadn't been difficult to find Maxson. He had been waiting on the flight deck as the vertibird had made its approach. Calm. Collected. The even expression of a scowl seemingly etched into his features. A cool brisk wind disturbed the surroundings, managing only to move the Elder's groomed locks slightly. Steely eyes watched their approach. Observed as the vertibird connected with the mighty airship to land.

Danse had seen his lips moving but the words were lost. Frowning, the synthetic humanoid exited the craft with the intention of making his way to the disapproving Elder.

What had happened next, however, had set the tone darker than even he could have imagined.

It had come up swiftly, the .45 pipe revolver. A heavy beast. Simple iron sights. Free of rust. Scuffs and rubs from a dutiful service. The Elder's expression had scarcely changed as he hoisted the weapon. No hint of hesitation. A practiced hand stroked the trigger, loosening the round.

The pilots head had erupted like a pressurized bottle of Nukacola.

He never felt it.

Organic matter splayed over the controls of the cabin. It painted the windshield with morbid dark drips. Time had seemed to suddenly slow. The lifeless body of the once familiar recruit pitched forward heavily onto the controls. A release was inadvertantly thrown. Above, a heavy coupler groaned obediantly. There was a slight hiss, a barely audible scraping of metal-on-metal, before the vertibird slipped. It departed from the Prydwen without hesitation.

No running engines held it aloft. No operator guided its descent. One moment it had been there, the next, the pre-war machine was plummeting to the airport below.

He had screamed.

No words. No phrase. Just a gutteral cry of disbelief.

It had fallen for an eternity before erupting against the earth. A giant plume of heat and fuel fumes bellowed up towards the Prydwen, choking the sky with darkness and smoke.

There was no way of knowing if anyone below had been killed in the crash.

Metal had groaned beneath his grip, squeezing the railing with the assisted power of his T-60. Frustration. Anger. It had seethed through his system like an organic chem-high. Blood pounded within his ears as he considered what to do next. Teeth ground against one another as the muscles in his jaw flexed.

There had been few options left.

Now, Danse stumbled away. Unarmored hand reached up sympathically to touch his jaw after the last exchange of blows. He rocked it side to side, listening and feeling for anything abnormal. No clicks. No grinding sound. No sharp senstions. A taste of copper was on his tongue from a few loosened teeth, but that was minor. Swelling could be felt hot against the surface of his skin in a few places. Lower lip pulsed idly.

However, the former Paladin wasn't the only one sporting such trophies.

Elder Maxson stood apart from his former comrade with a heaving chest. Heavy bomber jacket had been forgone as heated words had exchanged between the duo just several minutes ago. As the words escalated, so too did Danse shed the protection of his T-60. Both bore hardened and cold expressions, a seething rage heating beneath its surface.

It hadn't taken long to come to blows.

A violent exchange, like two titans clashing in the fluctuating light.

Arthur glared openly now. Blood dripped from a broken lip that was beginning to swell. He wiped it with the back of an equally bloodied hand. The stream was immediately replaced with more of the crimson fluid vacating the split skin.

"I wouldn't expect a synth like you to understand the corruption you started here," Arthur spat, teeth streaked with red and hair askew. Hands were still closed into fists as he maintained a braced stance with shoulders rounded. "What it would take to cleanse it... It was my mistake to let you live, and for that, it falls to me to try and fix what had transpired."

_It was madness._

"You turned them against yourself, Arthur!" Michael said in a growling tone, brows lowered in checked rage.

"I'll not listen to you anymore, you synth bastard. If you want to take all that I have from me, you will have to kill me first."

"You don't leave me much choice," Michael uttered under his breath bitterly. Regretfully. There had been genuine intention to resolve this without violence, odd as that may have been. "I never wanted to fight you," he shouted with frustration. Mind briefly noted the moisture trickling down by his ear. _Sweat, or blood?_ It was hard to tell.

"Then you're exactly the coward I knew you were," Elder Maxson said through gritted teeth. "Underhanded. Deceitful. Did you think I wouldn't see you turning them against me? I saw it. Their love for you. Their adoration for you. They might have followed me, followed orders, but it was you... You were the one they respected. The one they turned to. Manipulative scum. I should have known long ago what was unfolding here."

Without warning, Arthur once again rushed his former brother-in-arms with a growl. Hatred burned within the depths of his lighter gaze. Fists once more were brought into play, forcing a defensive response from the synth. He stepped forward without hesitation. Moving quickly, throwing strikes in rapid succession. Time and time again, it was only open air that was found. After all, this was not an easy target he was seeking to strike.

Each force was avoided, or redirected. Each step was made with a mind to remain stable and not lose balance. A high left. Blocked. An opening. Arthur struck with a powerful right. Connection. Bone on bone. Skin split on the enemy's cheek, mixing with the blood of open and raw knuckles. A stumble. His opponent took a misstep. Maxson pressed forward, throwing another series that were surprisingly deflected or blocked.

Yet, Danse had been slightly taken by surprise with the last connection. Immediately set to the defensive. It bubbled a small amount of confidence in Maxson.

It also offered a mild distraction as well.

The Elder ushered a sharp sweeping blow to his opponents leg just then, knocking it from beneath him with a resounding crash to the metal walkway. Satisfaction. The synth's head bounced against the hardened surface as he fell back. Just like that, the Elder was on him. Intent on finishing this. Picturing in his mind what it might look like to sit at victory over this particular foe. He could practically taste it.

Then, a shout of surprise as both wrists were grabbed in mid-air. He'd scarcely seen Danse move as he fell onto his opponent with the intention of a dropping blow.

Bloodied hands held bloodied fists in a titan-like struggle. Vice-grip against brute force. Each shook with the effort.

Red droplets fell between the open gaps on the steel walkway. Arthur leaned down heavily above him, lip dripping rhythmically.

Danse took a moment to catch his breath. A glance into the eyes above only confirmed the intent desire the Elder had for continuing this fight. Most men might have flinched under the unbridled hate. Danse merely set his own stony expression and pressed on.

Very little remained of the man Danse had once called a brother and friend. Struggling above him was the shell of a madman. All logic, all reason, had been lost long ago.

_When had it changed?_

_Had he been too blind to see it? Too loyal to question it?_

Arthur had always been passionate in all manner of ways. It was a strong leadership quality. A trait that gathered men and women beneath his banner without question. Much good had been done within his reign as Elder.

Yet, within that passion had settled a dark view of the world.

It had corrupted the Elder in more ways than one. Developing and nursing a paranoia that had caused him to become unhinged. A danger to be addressed with the utmost urgency.

Muscles began to protest in an attempt to hold the Elder's attacks at bay. The grasp of his wrists beginning to develop into a battle of wills. There was no doubt that several of the blows had caught Danse off-guard with their intensity. There had been no holding back. No brother-like quarrel here. Each attack meant to damage. Each attack was aimed with the intent to do harm.

In that, Deacon had been right; Danse may have been bio-organic, but he was still markedly human in most traits.

Their strength was remarkably even-matched. Training styles similarly integrated into their minds from mentors over the years. What was thrown could be deflected. What was defended could be overwhelmed.

Each were blooded. Skin split. Knuckles swollen from catching bone or tooth.

"What's the plan, Arthur?" he goaded from a point of disadvantage. Arms were shaking as he tried to push against the Elder's weight. Maxson struggled to free a hand. "You kill me, and then what? The whole Commonwealth?"

Maxson was unphased by the words. Too far gone in his own view of the world to be pulled back to sanity. "If I have to," he said with a growl. "I will kill every single person who stands in my way. Synth, human, mutant, ghoul... if they aren't with us, they are against us and must be dealt with."

Pressure eased off abruptly and Arthur pulled himself away from his grounded foe.

Danse held onto the grip of his wrists for just a moment longer before releasing him. It appeared as if Maxson wished to return this fight to its feet. Danse gathered his feet and made to rise as well... Only to deflect a sudden knee to the face.

Instead, he grasped the lower limb and pushed it to the side. The intent was to bring the Elder off-balance. It seemed to work for just a hairs breath. That was all he needed.

Danse rushed the Elder, ducking beneath a fist to come alongside and behind. A bent elbow. A sudden turn. It was thrown against Maxson's back and ribcage as the synth moved with speed. A grunt proved the manuver was effective. As the Elder made to turn, Danse returned the favour and swept the supporting leg out from beneath the violent madman.

Arthur now fell heavily to the grating.

"Get up," Danse huffed, temper flaring.

Suddenly, stars.

The world tilted dramatically, as if it was the world that was tumbling and not him.

A wheeze as the hard walkway came up to meet the flat of his back.

A violent ringing in his head.

Sounds were distorted.

Pain erupted in too many places to really identify.

_What the hell?_

Maxson was standing above him now, gesturing with aggravated movements.

 _Was he saying something?_ It was hard to make out.

A crashing headache crippled his senses.

Maxson's mouth moved in a sea of spinning surroundings. Another gesture. A hand brought the weapon up, regarding it for a moment as if disappointed in its performance.

Sounds began to echo around him as the ringing ebbed.

"--n't you just die easily?!" the crazed Elder's lip twitched.

_Maxson... had shot him?_

Danse hadn't even noticed a weapon on his form during all of this. Had it been well concealed, or had he just failed to notice it in the chaos?

A burning line could be felt wrapping around the exterior of his skull. A wobbling hand reached up and found opened flesh there. No hole. No rupture. Yet it flared violently beneath the touch. Every nerve felt as if it were on high alert and more than happy to relay painful information in great detail. It had been a glancing blow, but enough to rattle whatever it was he used to process the world around him. Heat and lead had cut a path through the flesh and along the skull, carving a groove into the hardened bone before steering away from its core.

Maxson had meant to kill him.

Somehow, the thought was surprising. In that moment, it had become entirely real. It had been spoken, promised even, but even a fistfight did not necessarily equate to a real desire to end the others life. There had been enough disagreements and scuffles within the ranks over the years to attest to that fact. Even brothers could fight. Sometimes mightily. Sometimes with unchecked rage. Yet, they were just altercations.

Here, and now, it became real.

Arthur really meant to kill him.

A dazzed hand shot up to deflect a devastating blow thrown from above. It caught and successfully landed against an already brutalized skull. Another was thrown. Blooded hands made gripping the falling shots nearly impossible.

Michael retaliated with his own attempts to fend off his attacker. To grasp at a hand. Perhaps he could break one of Maxson's hands or wrists. There was no longer the question of holding back. This was no longer a clean fight. It had broached the point of no return. A fight for survival. In that, there were no rules. If he didn't gain control, surely Arthur wouldn't hesitate to finish what he started back at Listening Post Bravo.

A white-hot flare of pain seared along his skill as a punch came to land upon the bullet-carved wound. A knee interupted any cry from the pain, delivering a sharp and heavy blow to his solarpelxis. Breath escaped in in a ragged cough that caught him by surprise. He gasped, squeaking slightly as he fought to take a breath with a bruised diaphram.

He was being bested, and was running short on ideas.

_Fuck._

It was the only time in recent memories that he could recall being so outmatched. It was normally he that would claim the dominant role in any altercation. Danse would establish himself quickly. A match not to be tested or easily measured in hand-to-hand. Battle-hardened. A veteran in the field. Familiar with all manner of duels, be it weaponized or not.

Yet, it was he who now lay upon his back. Prone. He who struggled to take a breath with the eyes of a determined and unwavering opponent staring down at him. Knuckles stung as the skin was split over the bones. It was not the first time he had broken knuckles on another man's skull.

What had begun in thrown strikes now settled into intense grappling as each struggled to wrestle the other into submission. Twin titans clashing with skills and muscle evently matched. A hold, then an escape. Another hold. An elbow connected with a jaw. A knee to the body. Each struggled and grunted from the effort.

Then, a pop and shout. Legs braced and an arm was levered beyond it's normal range of motion. The elbow popped easily from its normal position, clamped firmly by the opponent before twisting it violently.

Maxson knelt heavily on the other man's sternum with a bent knee, holding fast the dislocated limb in his embrace with a look of satisfaction. He might have even smiled as Danse swore beneath him, spare hand reaching towards his elbow out of reflex. Yet, this entire exchange had left a bad taste in the Elder's mouth. There was nothing to smile about in all of this. If anything, it angered him moreso that such a pitiful opponent could have ruined his world in such a way. A more formidable foe would have somehow made this more understandable.

Yet, the synth still tried valiantly to continue the fray.

_Could synths even feel pain, really?_

A twist of the dislocated limb.

Brown eyes winced shut as Danse's body arched pitifully beneath him.

_Apparently._

This was growing tiresome. An ache had developed all over his body from this extensive back-and-forth. It should have been an easy task. In truth, the thought had been there to shoot down the vertibird before it even made it to the Prydwen. It would have saved much trouble.

_Ah, but pride was a tricky thing._

It was not always so easy to see the logical path when ones honor had been called into question.

It was time to press on and conclude this particular disagreement.

Danse tried to cough as the Elder leaned down to regard him, but it only came out as a wheeze. Hands fixed tightly around the synth's windpipe and began to squeeze without remorse.

Briefly, the Elder wondered if it took synths longer to die than humans.

_This was not good._

A hand came up to desperately pry against Maxson's grip. Red slick ooze made it a fumbling attempt at best.

The cool breeze could be felt on the back of his head. The open steel grating was the only thing keeping them attached to the Prydwen as it hovered above the Boston airport. Smoke continued to plume around them momentarily, darkening the scene. Maxson gave no indication he was aware of anything occurring beyond that of ending his former shoulder brother’s life.

_No._

He tried to speak.

No sound came forth.

“Do you feel it, synth?” Maxson said darkly. His grip was unrelenting, heavy. A knee upon his chest brought an ache to his lungs and heart. Muscles twitched and struggled against what was happening. “Your life slipping away.”

In truth, he could.

_Arthur, no._

He could force little air from his lungs as he tried to speak. It came out as a gag.

Danse struggled still but could find no purchase, no angle to utilize.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. No one was supposed to get hurt.

It had been a risk. All of this had been a risk.

Now, he couldn’t get a breath.

And here he lay, back against the steel platform of the flight deck, unable to remedy any of it.

A fist landed upon his face once more from the free hand of Elder Maxson. It caused his vision to shift and spin.

Danse swung again. Tried to reach for Elder Maxson’s face. Throat. Eyes. _Anything._

The grip upon his throat increased.

A portion of cartilage was felt giving under the pressure with a sickening sound. A crackling. An occasional pop.

_Shit._

He struggled.

The world had begun to dim in tunnel vision.

Images of the scene unfolding before him were beginning to grow blurry and trace. Sounds were distant and drummy. Echoes. A ringing from the bullet richoet earlier. The only clear noise was the rushing of blood in his ears. At first, it had pounded in such triumphant tone that it was deafening. Now, it began to slow. Lungs screamed for air with a deep painful burn. Muscles flexed against the knee that was pressing with such force against his diaphragm. Try as he might, it was impossible to fill his chest with a sweet breath. Muscles felt like they were lit aflame. Numbness tingled in each limb. In a way, it was relief from the screaming ache of his badly bent arm, which was reversed from its normal range of motion and no longer obeying orders.

He assumed he was struggling. Fighting. Trying to push the heavy weight of a form away from him. To push it aside and take a much-needed gulp of life. To soothe the panic his system was relaying to him about a lack of basic resources. An internal organic HUD. A communication from ones’ body that was letting him know: _He was in deep shit._

Danse felt his arm fall heavily to the walkway as he tried a weak swing. To try and grasp at anything that could help him now. A brief morbid thought passed his hazy mind, wondering if removing Arthur’s eye with a thumb would be enough to gain a foothold. It was worth a shot. Fingers danced in front of his vision as he reached. Watched as another fist came to connect in a subduing attempt. Watched the blurring image of his own arm collapsing to his side without ability to stop it.

Best efforts were made to will the limb to rise again. It tingled pitifully.

_Shit._

_No…_

_Was this it, then?_

It felt as if it may be. In a strange way, there was no panic.

It felt surprisingly calm despite the pain. Cold, in a way, but not frightening.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way, or so he had foolishly believed.

Did a person really have a choice as to how matters ended in life? Wasn’t it all just a matter of intel versus risk in the end? It could have been any number of things to have ended his life long ago. A stray bullet. A poor choice in any number of battles he had faced. Yet, it was here that he lay now with mind regarding his death.

Never did he believe it would be delivered to him by the hands of someone he had once called brother. It had always been thought that he would die in the line of duty, gloriously in some battle against insurmountable odds.

It could have been worse, he distantly mused.

Even now, he felt sorry for his brother in arms. So distraught over the fears of the Commonwealth that he had mentally barrackaded himself against any that were different. Ghouls. Deathclaws. Even now, civilians. He refused to listen to reason. Refused to admit that anything in his actions had been questionable.

A good leader should always seek the advice of others. Perspective. To reflect upon ones self and ones actions to determine if the course of action was a good one. To determine if the choices being made were suitable for a person in power. In that, Elder Maxson had truly faultered.

Perhaps there was a ray of hope.

Perhaps they would rise up against him and take the Brotherhood back as a whole. Historical documents had indicated disputes and heated resolutions during the Brotherhood’s younger days. Questions about leadership and purpose. Perhaps it would be that way now. It was possible. They had come together to seek aid from a mentor such as Danse, requesting that he speak with the Elder as only the bold, and foolish, could. To ask him to step down from his duties until he was mentally fit or until another could be found to replace him.

Perhaps, after all of this, they would take matters into their own hands and do what was right for the Brotherhood of Steel.

He believed they would.

Maybe it was that ideal that brought him a sense of calm. A sense of closure to it all.

_Everyone had to die at some point._

He couldn’t see the face of the man above him now. Darkness had clouded his vision no matter how he blinked. Chances are that he would not have recognized it anyway.

Arthur Maxson had been a man of pride, integrity and moral fortitude.

What sat above Danse now was only a man filled with fear and paranoia. Not a leader. Not even a recruit. Fear robbed a person of unbiased judgment. Whispered tales of darkness and hardships. Fear could never lead or inspire people. It could only hinder them. Bury them. Give them reason to question everything and forego trust.

A piercing echo ruptured the air around them.

A sound that even managed to break through the distant sensations he was feeling as mind slipped to the edge of struggling unconsciousness.

As the sound reached him, so did his situation change.

The pressure on his throat was cast away violently as the looming figure above him jerked upwards with a gurgling scream.

Hands freed themselves of their grip on the fallen comrades throat as Maxson reached up to clutch helplessly as blood poured from his face. A staggering step brought him unsteadily to his feet, movements awash with disorientation. There was a resounding clang as Arthur crashed heavily back against the steel railing adjacent to the scene as hands tried desperately to make sense of the situation. Blood flowed freely from between his fingertips, the flesh seen hanging off from the catastrophic injury. It dripped into the open air below them.

_It wasn’t supposed to end this way. Not in blood._

It had been a niave concept. Life was not that simple.

A deep breath filled the Paladin’s lungs in desperation. A rush of feeling came back to his body. Diaphram spasmed with a mighty series of coughs as he lay prone . He gasped at the cool air around him like a thirsty man might drink water after being parched. To any looking on, he may have appeared a fish out of water. Gasping in deep gulps of air. Skin was aflame around his throat, bruised and pinched from the effort Maxson had taken to try and choke the life from him. It had nearly worked. It had nearly cost him his life. Hesitation. Wanting to avoid a fight. Wanting to… not kill the Elder. It had nearly cost him everything to hold onto that small shred of hope against all odds.

Sharpness began to return to his vision. It was clear that Elder Maxson had been shot.

“Arthur!” Danse tried to shout. It came out only as a wheeze that fell into a hacking cough that rendered words useless.

Maxson’s movements were staggering, as if drunk. Unorganized. A hand fell limply away from covering his face, yielding a glimpse at the carnage beneath. Had the Paladin possessed a weaker stomach, it may have been enough to bring him to retch. Flesh and bone hung in a mess where once had been a handsome face. Where had been an eye now was an empty void trailed with oozing tendrils. The other eye stared about, unfocused as a broken jaw hung slack.

As the other hand slipped from its reflexive hold to the wound, it was clear to see where the bullet had exited the skull. A gaping crater sat as a ruptured chasm nearest his left temple. It bled surprisingly little where the bone could see splayed. It was the flesh that ran the red rivers freely.

The form of Elder Maxson fell limp against the railing. A gurgling statement attempted to find its way to the surface, succeeding only in blowing morbid crimson bubbles. No longer did his remaining eye see. The other, ruptured and gone.

Danse reached out with his good arm for his former mentor. The limb was heavy, but it obeyed with great protest. He reached for him. Former friend. Brother. Tried to grasp the form of the man he had once called leader.

It was a moment too late to prevent the enevitable.

The limp body of former Elder Maxson slumped against the railing, pitched backwards and fell from the Prydwen’s flight deck.

A cool wind whistled idly through the many uneven surfaces of the mighty airship.

In the distance, a hum rumbled to life from of the Prydwen’s stabilizing engines.

“Danse!”

The shout was clear to reach him as blood no longer pounded in his ears.

The former Paladin laid back heavily, a surge of emotions overwhelming him as he uttered a note of frustration with what had just transpired, still wheezing and coughing from the close call.

_Dammit, Arthur!_

He slammed his good fist back against the grating with a clang.

“I’m fine,” he rasped at the familiar face rushing over to him. In truth, he hadn't been just a moment ago. A tingling left hand reached up to touch his face and came away with more blood than he thought should be there. Lips pressed together slightly. Still, it was better than being dead.

“Yeah, right,” Haylen scoffed as she took inventory of the scene. Poking, prodding, checking cuts for blood loss. An inward hiss went past her lips as she pressed along her former officer's skull where the bone had successfully deflected a bullet through some feat.

Apparently, it must have looked unpleasant.

"It glanced off," Danse muttered, wincing an eye closed.

"Good thing you're so hard-headed," the Scribe said without humor.

“Elbow is out of place,” he stated in a matter-of-fact way. Brown eyes glanced past the Scribe. “I need to get down there.”

Haylen glanced at the oddly bent limb and made a face, “Gonna hurt like hell, sir.”

“Yeah, I know,” Danse struggled to sit up, bracing himself with his good hand. There was a pause. “I’m sorry, Haylen. That type of decision… I’m sorry you had to be involved in it. It wasn’t supposed to go that way. I shouldn’t have let that fall to you.”

“Sometimes things happen beyond our control, sir, and we just have to make the tough choices,” Haylen glanced at her mentor for a moment. She drew a deep breath and exhaled heavily, moving to more closely examine his arm. She pressed her lips together as if gathering her thoughts before putting a hand on his shoulder. “… I’m sorry you had to do any of this, sir."

Michael gave a single nod.

They were like a family in some ways. Some days it was good. Other days, completely and utterly dysfunctional to the point of insanity. Yet, they would always look out for each other. No matter how hard things got.

It took a couple of tries, and Haylen bracing with a foot against his shoulder, to return the dislocated joint to its rightful location. It rolled into position with an audible pop that rivaled even the most refreshing Nukacola being opened. Relief was found almost instantly. Fingers could flex slightly. It was enough. Whether or not the tendons were ruptured or torn would remain to be seen over the next few days, depending on when the swelling would taper off. Surely there would be other things popping up as issues as the day wore on.

There were more pressing matters.

“I need to get down there,” Michael wasted no time in getting unsteadily to his feet. It took several moments longer than he was used to to get his bearings, but once the horizon stopped tilting, everything went much more smoothly. Briskly, he crossed the flight deck and returned to the confines of his T-60.

“Affirmative, sir,” Haylen shouted over a gust of wind, holding her hat as she rushed to a nearby cockpit.

In truth, Danse could have jumped the railing and been to the crash site almost immediately to assess the situation. The T-60s were rated for jump heights that were practically unreasonable. There had been tests, of course, confirming the intel and data. It was verified dozens of times over. It would have taken him to the site below with no injury. Massive jump stabilizers would activate and brace during the fall. Only a few seconds and he would be on scene and able to relay orders.

Yet, as the wind combed against his skin, drying the blood there, he had no desire to make the leap today. Not after what he had just witnessed.

Thinking about the loss of their Elder left a pit in his stomach so heavy that it felt as if he must have swallowed a wrench from the workshop. Emotions tore at him more than he had expected. There were no tears, but there was a strange kind of heartbreak. Disappointment. Guilt that perhaps he might have been able to do something more. It replayed in his mind, logic fighting emotions.

_Did humans have this same type of analytical regret?_

The vertibird beside him hummed as Haylen brought the mechanical beast to life.

A hesitation as he looked at it. Then, he jumped aboard.

"Take us down," he had to shout over the engines.

If Haylen answered, it was lost to the wind.


End file.
